143
by Mister Melancholy
Summary: AU, UKUS. Transfer student Alfred Jones thought life couldn't be any worse after moving to England. However, when the British guy in his history class sends him a text that says "143," Alfred finds himself questioning his own sexuality. Sheesh, FML.
1. ADIH

**Ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡ ➀**  
ⒶⒹⒾⒽ

Baby blue eyes converged the ceiling in the upmost focused matter, traces of melancholy and cholera and trepidation flickering amongst them fervently. No doubt the thought of the first day of high school—which, he unfortunately had to admit was only two days away from now—would incessantly taunt his mind with fear. He always had been scared of going into high school; not for the academically inclined challenges that awaited him, but mostly for just plain fitting in with everyone else.

Normally, he could proudly—and somewhat egotistically—state that this wasn't a problem for him. He was actually quite popular with everyone. Considering his adorably charming and affable demeanor, his adroit intellect (mainly concerning history), and his astoundingly gorgeous looks, he could very well be the epitome of Mr. Popularity. Though, that was only back when he actually had enough courage to flaunt his perfection—when he didn't feel like such a stranger. When he was actually in his hometown of Dripping Springs (a small little suburb somewhere close to the middle of the Lonestar State) instead of the intimidating city apparently called "Newcastle upon Tyne," which was very well in the foreign territory of England. _England!_

His parent's choice of moving had been almost too hasty and spontaneous, with no real reason save for, "We'll be closer to family this way." And by "family," they meant his senile grandfather, who practically lived on the opposite side of the English country. While the lack of proper justification for their movement irked him, what made him squirm even more was the fact he was to attend school here. In England.

He had the ideal imagery of what school in England, as opposed to the states, would be like. He suspected and most certainly expected a plethora of haughty, aristocratic, tea-drinking children abound, with their frumpy and pompous uniforms and whatnot. They would all have a strong heart for highly-praised literature—most likely Arthur Conan Doyle and Shakespeare's works—and a desire for the luxurious sports, such as golf and croquet. Their manners would always be taken into consideration before completing their task on hand, and conversations would be of the upmost taciturn manner. And, above all, they would all have those intriguing British accents. (That is something that he unfortunately could not imitate, and was completely astounded at his friends' mockeries of the accent with such unfathomable facility.)

It really scared him to think that he was subject to learn in such a different environment. He would miss all his robust and talkative (and highly inappropriate) friends, and he was almost certain he would be making no close acquaintances amongst the English population of children at his school (which was, if he could remember correctly, called "George Stephenson High School"). What he was certain was that his school life for the next four years would be a living nightmare for him. Trying to cope with the ways of the English would even further drown him into that abysmal nightmare. How could he—Alfred Frederick Jones, your average countryside bumpkin—be able to live amongst the _proper_ people? How could he possibly strive to live through torturous years being expected to go through school _normally_?

Those same blue eyes flickered again, though this time with a mutinous aura. Though he was dubbed as a very nice person, he was also quite the rebel; he would not succumb to the ways of the Englishman, and instead opt for his usual American flair. Despite the horrid consequences of possibly being set out as an immediate outcast, it was a much better option than becoming someone he most certainly was not. And Alfred Frederick Jones most certainly was _not_ a proper gentleman, be it in America nor England nor anywhere else in the world (well, save for the times he was at a fancy restaurant with the family and all).

The blonde American, still not the least bit tired, jumped out of his bed in a frantic daze and stared at the school uniform hanging loosely on a hanger. It consisted of a pair of ironed red- and black-colored checkered pants, an almost-translucent and pressed white button-down shirt, a forest green vest with the school logo attached to the right side of the torso area, and a flamboyant red tie to complete the look. He stared at it for a moment in a contemplative manner, his finger placed gingerly under his chin in an act to indicate his deep musings. Then, with a sudden epiphany, he smirked thoughtfully and began making some minor "adjustments" to his uniform. To give it the American flair. To give it the rebellious flair. To give it the _Alfred_ flair.

After tailoring the outfit to meet his needs, the American let out a satisfied sigh and patted it gently, nodding in contentment. He then proceeded to return to his bed, wrapping himself snugly in his blankets. For once, he might have actually not been scared of going into high school; rather, he was excited to show off his uniqueness. He was excited to be different than anyone else.

He was excited to show everyone who exactly Alfred Frederick Jones was.

➊ ➃ ➌

Commence the first day of school (which roughly translates to the first day of hell, hurrah.)

Alfred heaved out short, relieving sighs to resettle his equanimity and tugged nonchalantly at his tie (full of little, shiny, American-esque buttons). His gaze diverted towards the fancy looming letters above him: George Stephenson High School.

The entire exterior of the campus was empty, save for himself. That lead him to assume that school had already started, which was surprising. He was so sure he set his alarm clock to an early time, but shrugged it off; he would only prove to be fashionably late for the first day, which was more or less desirable for the image he would set upon for the English students.

He stepped inside the school hurriedly, taking in a whiff of the atmosphere. It smelled like any other regular school, and upon closer inspection, it looked very and eerily similar to his old schools back in America. The only difference was, really, the chilling vacancy, as if the hallways were frequently haunted by ghosts and the like. It sent a bone-chilling shiver down his spine, proving to diminish what courage he had initially.

The American began walking wearily through the hallways, glancing at the shiny green lockers and the plethora of posters pasted on the walls here and there. After some time of walking every direction possible, he felt as if he was lost. He felt as if he was stuck in a maze, and the fact that practically everything looked similar to each other made it all the more difficult to figure out where exactly he was.

It sure was pathetic to have been lost on the first day of school, even if he had never been here before. He felt like such a child whose been separated from his family at the grocery store. The only possible think they could do (after their frantic panicking) is sit and cry their heart out. Alfred would've done that, too, if he was roughly around ten years younger or so.

The American glanced wearily at the classroom doors, being able to make out silhouettes of people inside. He actually considered walking inside to ask where exactly he should be, but he thoroughly decided against it. There were times when asking for directions were okay, but he felt as if it wasn't the right time right now. He felt as if—

"Umm, hello?" The quiet, foreign voice made Alfred jump in surprise, turning around to see a boy who looked slightly similar to _his self_ in a weird sense. They both shared the same kinds of glasses, the same shade of baby blues, the same sun-kissed skin and hair color (though, his hair was a lot longer and reached just above his elbows, a lone long curl springing off from his head in an act to defy gravity). As opposed to Alfred, the boy in front of him held an innocent and withdrawn demeanor, quivering slightly yet smiling with the warmness of your usual boy next door.

"Hey, dude," Alfred said nonchalantly, passively waving a hand to the side.

The boy cocked his head to the side, scrutinizing the foreigner carefully until coming up with a sound conclusion. "You must be… new here. You're a tourist, eh?" He gestured slightly at the American buttons on Alfred's tie.

Heat rose to Alfred's cheeks. "N-no!" his stentorian interjection went as he looked down in embarrassment. "I'm a new student here…" He tugged at his clothes, sticking out his tongue in the process. "I mean, I guess that's what I was kinda aiming for… but a _tourist_, really?"

The boy smiled softly, tinges of pink splaying across the bridge of his nose. "Eh, sorry about that, mate. We've been getting a bunch of tourists waltzing in here every now and then. I don't know why they don't understand that this is a _school_ and not a restaurant or something."

"Really? I didn't think people could be that dumb," Alfred inquired thoughtfully, scratching his head. The boy in front of him chuckled softly, nodding his head in agreement.

"Weird, eh? Sorry for mistaking you for a tourist again, though. I should have known considering you're wearing our uniform."

"I dunno, a tourist _could_ possibly wind up wearing this."

The two looked at each other, exchanging sheepish and halfhearted smiles, then burst into a fit of giggles. After their little laughing fit had subsided, the two stared at each other intently again before Alfred spoke up.

"I'm Alfred," he stated, a big smile still attached to his face. "Alfred Jones."

"Well, Alfred Jones, I'm Matthew." The boy paused for a brief moment before adding in a mocking tone, "Matthew Williams."

Alfred sent him an amused look, in awe at how absolutely charismatic the boy was. He wasn't anything like he expected an Englishman would be; he seemed to be pretty laid back, and even his attire wasn't all that "pompous" and "frumpy". At least, in the way he wore it, for the sleeves extended beyond his finger tips and the collar hung slightly past one of his shoulders. It looked as if the uniform would engulf Matthew (_hmm, would he mind if I called him Mattie?_ Alfred mused bemusedly) any minute now, what, with its large proportions compared to the small boy's almost effeminate body structure.

Matthew flinched at the way Alfred was staring at him, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. "Uhh, so anyway," he piped in hesitantly, picking at a nonexistent loose thread on his vest. "Where are you supposed to be, eh?"

"I'm not even sure. Honestly, I'm lost," the American said meekly, his hands floating towards his face subconsciously to adjust his spectacles. "Pretty pathetic, huh?"

"Not at all, mate! We all get lost sometimes; this is a big school, eh?"

"Yeah," Alfred muttered softly, shrugging.

Matthew noticed the despondent look on the American's face and diverted his gaze to the side. His hands were wrapped behind him, fingers fumbling nervously with each other's. "It really is no big deal," he reiterated carefully.

Alfred shot him a short glance, then shrugged again. "Yeah, well, I still dunno where I'm supposed to be at right now. What class period is it?"

"Still first," Matthew said in a matter-of-fact way, calming down slightly from his fidgeting. He feigned a smile and walked towards the American, gesturing him to follow. "You should come over to my homeroom. I'm sure our teacher wouldn't mind helping you out. He's a really laid-back kind of bloke."

"Bloke?" Alfred asked dumbly, scratching his head. "Isn't that a word for an American guy? So the teacher's from America?"

The other blonde stared at the American, dubious of his question, then laughed out loud. Alfred blushed again, knowing full well he had just made a complete and utter fool of himself. "N-no," Matthew said, trying to regain his composure after his little laughing fit. "I-it's an English term for m-men in general. You Americans sure are funny, eh?"

Alfred grinned. "Well, yeah, I guess so," he beamed. "So anyway, where're we s'posed to go?" He stuck out his tongue playfully, then added, "Mate?"

"See, you're catching on quick, eh?" Matthew nodded his head rapidly, trudging towards whatever their destination was. The American followed closely behind, amazed at how the boy was able to easily navigate throughout the entirety of the hallways without so much as a pause or any moment of hesitance. When the two blondes finally made it to the classroom, Alfred took a quick chance to peer inside the one of the little windows on the door before entering. He couldn't exactly make out what anyone looked like—all he could really see were shadows and anonymous silhouettes—considering there were no lights inside, but he did notice a pair of emerald green orbs staring his way intently. It almost seemed as if they were… _glaring_ at him.

He shivered slightly (this truly was a very scary school), turning his head to face his new friend. Matthew gave a reassuring smile before knocking quietly on the door two times, as if in code form, and walked in. Timidly, the American walked in slowly afterwards, watching as the lights came back on and everything was absolutely clear to him. Everything from the teacher—lanky in build, but gave a promising and kind-hearted feel—to the desks and the pencils and the cupboard, and the _students_.

Surprisingly, the students were nothing like Alfred had imagined at all. Instead of that proper image he engraved in his head of the local Englishmen, he realized that the students displayed a sort of uniqueness to each of their outfits, as well as their overall look. They all seemed to have a particular attribute about them that made them stand out from the rest. On the right was a lone-looking guy with a cold and intimidating stare that sent Alfred plummeting down to horror-land. Next to him was a smiling guy with a huge white scarf, though he also made the American feel very weary. There was a girl with a bright purple ribbon, but without it she could have very well been mistaken for a male considering her short haircut and androgynous face.

All in all, everyone was just _different_ than everyone else. No one was the same. No one looked like a proper gentleman (or lady). No one looked like a _British_ person!

Feeling a light push on his back (a la Matthew, of course), Alfred stumbled onto the front of the classroom, feeling a million pairs of eyes boring into his soul. He gulped quietly, staring at Matthew who just gave him a simple thumbs up. Shaking his head, the American sighed dejectedly, all courage quickly draining from his egotistical mind.

"And who may you be?" the teacher enquired softly, placing a giant hand on Alfred's shoulder.

_Oh… fuck my life._ Alfred stared at the creepy stares he received from his peers, twitching at the exceptionally curt glare from those same emerald eyes he had seen earlier on. "Umm," he started, mentally slapping himself for his meek tone. "I'm Alfred… Jones."

"Ah! Alfred Jones—the American transfer student, eh?" The teacher began shuffling a stack of papers around, flipping through them quickly, his eyes darting from left to right with such rapidity that it almost made the American faint from dizziness. Though, he managed to squeeze out a small, "Y-yes," from his quivering lips as he continued to feel the horrible pang of deathly stares from the students.

"Well, Mr. Jones, you are definitely in this class. Here's your schedule." The man handed the American a flimsy piece of paper with professional-looking font abound, and Alfred started to skim through it with shaky hands. Eyes softening from pity, the teacher gently tapped Alfred's shoulder and pointed towards an empty desk next to a tanned boy, who was scribbling something down with a pencil that had a… tomato-topped eraser. _Weird_.

"Here, Mr. Jones, you may have the seat next to Carriedo."

_Carriedo?_ Alfred quickly assumed that it was some sort of Mexican surname, feeling the least bit more comfortable knowing that he wasn't the only foreigner here. However, upon glancing at the students again… it seemed that no one really was from England.

When he heard his name, the tanned Spanish boy craned his head towards the front of the room and smiled. The American could have melted right away from the charismatically warm display; ah, finally, someone who wasn't a completely coldhearted bastard!

"Here, here!" the Spaniard gushed happily, pointing towards the empty desk next to him.

Alfred nodded curtly and made his way swiftly towards his new desk, attempting to avoid every single awkward glance from his peers. Just as he was about to sit down, he heard a rather stentorian yell from across the room: "Hey! What's with your American buttons? America—fuck yeah, eh?"

Heat rose towards the American's face as he frantically searched for the owner of the voice, only to find it was a frightful and rugged-looking blonde, smirking smugly. Alfred could have very well punched that grin off of his face, but he restrained himself, chuckling softly as the teacher began scolding the boy for his sudden outburst.

No one else seemed to be fazed from the outburst, save for a few gossip-obsessed girls in the corner who were giggling madly. The vast majority of the class was busying themselves with whatever they were doing. Alfred noted that some were even texting as discretely as possible under their desks, and he began to find a small smile etch itself on his face. So, he wasn't the only rebellious teenager around here, was he?

Sitting down calmly in his new desk, he planted his elbows on the table and began contemplating, as he always did after being a nervous wreck. All he could describe this school to be was freakishly weird. The students were even weirder than his acquaintances back in his old American schools, and that was saying a lot considering his friends were complete and utter _freaks_! But the students here were beyond the freakishly abnormal. He wouldn't be surprised if insanity here was considered the norm.

He had realized that there was at least one normal guy around here, and that was Matthew. Though, the blonde kid (who had the verbal tic of "eh," which made the American assume he was Canadian or something… but then again, so did the teacher) did seem like a withdrawn kind of person, he was nice and lighthearted and humorous at times. He was also the only person Alfred felt safe and normal with (the Spaniard kid next to him was making things awkward with his constant babbling on about tomatoes and another kid with a weirdly Mexican-sounding name). Matthew was the only _sane_ person in the entirety of the school! And, well, Alfred was too. So far.

He began to shudder unconsciously, the familiar pang of a hideously scary glare coming towards his way. Just when he almost retrieved his equanimity again...

Alfred cocked his head to the side, searching around the classroom for whoever was making him feel uneasy. His eyes immediately fell on a rather haughty and petulant-looking boy, who had dark brown hair (and a peculiar curl sticking out to the side, similar to Matthew's but different in the way that it was less springy), tanned skin, and an eternal scowl plastered onto his face. From the way the tanned boy was staring at the American, Alfred began assuming that he might have been the owner of those enigmatic green eyes glaring at him earlier on. But, he quickly discarded the very thought; the tanned boy's eyes were a liquid amber and far from any shade of green, lest an emerald color.

The boy continued glaring at Alfred for reasons unbeknownst to him. Maybe the boy just hated on foreigners, especially Americans. Maybe the boy was just one of those hateful xenophobes. But whatever the case, Alfred felt himself slumping down into his chair. It had only been barely into first period, and he was already being hated on by someone he wasn't even introduced to yet, let alone know his name. The American felt even more flabbergasted than when his parents decided to suddenly move here just a few days ago.

He let out a deep, foreboding sigh. If the rest of his days (of hell) continued in the same manner as this, he would for sure die from the insanity of this weird school. The sad thing was, he already felt his life slowly draining away from his body, and that tanned boy's glaring didn't help in the matter.

_Oh, fuck my life_. Please.

➊ ➃ ➌

After a long day of introductions, intimidating glares a la peers, and more frightful insights on the sheer lunacy of the school, the almost-angelic chime of the lunch bell brought a sense of gratitude on Alfred's eyes. For one thing, he was finally glad he wouldn't be in a stuffed-up classroom full of the weirdoes. And, another thing, he was on the verge of caving in from starvation.

Hastily, the American grabbed his backpack (he still didn't have a locker yet), took out the saggy brown paper lunch bag, and began his little search for Matthew. The Canadian had promised him that he would help Alfred with his way around school, and of course the American gladly took him up on his kind offer. The American even started to look up to the Canadian as if he was some omnipotent and lily-white present from above. The everlasting gratification from Matthew's constant assistance made Alfred's miserable life have a little tinge of hope, if only a little. Nonetheless, it was better than suffering with nothing at all.

A few turns here and there, and the American finally found Matthew straggling behind another student with lunch in hand. His face having brightened up by the mere sight of the Canadian, Alfred beamed and waved frantically to gather Matthew's attention. When he realized that Matthew still seemed oblivious to his frivolous hand gestures, the American took it upon himself to approach the Canadian directly.

Once reaching Matthew's side, Alfred began to gingerly nudge the boy's side. A gasp erupted from his throat as the Canadian stared awkwardly at Alfred in a daze. Alfred cocked his head in confusion at the boy's seemingly horrified state and asked, "What's wrong, Mattie?" (Hopefully he wouldn't mind the American's nickname for him.)

The only response Alfred got out of him was a small, quaking shrug. "Oh, uhh, nothing interesting. Don't worry about it, eh, mate?"

"Well, if you say so… mate." His tone was unconvinced, his baby blue eyes glinting with suspicions. The quivering Canadian had something to hide, that much was sure, and it was obvious he wouldn't be telling Alfred any time soon. And, as curious as he was for the cause of Matthew's strange behavior, he wasn't going to be nosy. Not just yet.

So, letting the matter drop and attempting to ease the atmosphere, Alfred inhaled a huge reassuring breath and nodded fervently. "Well, let's go to lunch now, eh?"

Sensing the abrupt change in mood, the Canadian smiled wholeheartedly and sent Alfred a thankful nod. "Alright. You're getting good at this, by the way. You'll fit in no time of you keep this up," he said in a joking manner, walking off to some random direction. Alfred, like an obedient puppy, trailed closely behind the other blonde, attempting to memorize his surroundings and making a mental map of the interior of the building. So far, he was sure he would at least know where the cafeteria is from now on with no help whatsoever.

Upon reaching the cafeteria, Alfred couldn't help but gawk at the amazing decorations. It was as if this room was more of a luxurious suite than his school's cafeteria, what, with the fine-linen bench seats (really?), gold-trimmed and fancy-looking white draperies fall down from the ceiling, and an actually pleasant lunch line with feasible food. The cafeteria food from his school had always been a bit on the revolting side. The food here, however, actually looked temptingly appetizing. (He had to take a mental note to buy his lunch tomorrow and sample the delicious-looking food, just to see if they live up to their grandeur looks.)

"So, where would you like to sit?" Matthew asked quietly but just loud enough to be heard from over the excessive chit-chat from other fellow students. Alfred looked around and chose an empty set of tables in the back of the cafeteria, dragging the Canadian towards his mentally claimed spot. Fortunate for them, no one else seemed to have wanted to sit at Alfred's table choice, so the American seated his self promptly at the table with a hint of victory flickering in his eyes. Matthew stumbled across the floor and sat himself right beside Alfred, making a comfortably safe space between them.

"So anyway," Alfred spontaneously piped in, grabbing a wrapped sandwich from the depths of his lunch bag. "What's up with all the glarin'? There was this one Mexican-lookin' dude who kept giving me that death glare. Kinda freaky, huh?"

"Eh? You mean Romano?" The Canadian toyed with his salad, gingerly placing a hand on his cheek. "I can't really state this as fact, but rumor has it that he and Antonio Carriedo... the guy who sits next to you... have a sort of affair with each other. They're not going out, though. Everyone is saying that Romano is too much in denial. And Antonio is too oblivious to notice." He let out a blissful sigh, munching on a dark green leaf. "But I know that they will get their act together some day and actually notice each other... Hopefully."

"Oh." There really wasn't anything else Alfred could say, for he wasn't used to homosexual relationships. Everyone at his school had always had a straight pairing, and no one ever dared cross the border, straying away from the "normal" sexuality. It wasn't as if he outright hated gay relationships; he just couldn't say he supported them. However, he wasn't about to say that out loud. There were some things better left unsaid, and his thoughts on homosexuality were one of them. Besides, upsetting your only friend (and school navigator) practically meant suffering through his freshman year in solitude. That was not going to happen.

Straying away from the subject hastily, Alfred began taking a long glance at the whole of the cafeteria. It might have just been him, but he had noticed a wide range in ethnicity from everyone. It was weird. He supposed that this was a distinct school with a very diverse population. He couldn't even make out any Britons from the vastness of the crowd.

"This really is some place," Alfred muttered under his breath.

As if Matthew had read the American's thoughts perfectly, he said, "This school is pretty out of the ordinary, I know. It is supposedly the most diverse school in the entire world, or so I've heard. Nifty, eh?"

"Totally."

The two continued lunch in a taciturn manner, with Alfred munching loudly on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich whilst his best friend chewed his salad with careful mannerisms. The American hadn't even noticed the new pair sitting down next to then until he felt the Canadian nudging towards him slightly, quivering again.

Alfred craned his head and noticed two new figures sitting next to Matthew. There was a girl and a boy. The girl had skin bathed carefully under the sun, bright red lipstick that looked tacky on her skin, luscious black locks tied loosely on red ribbons, and brown orbs that bounced with happiness. She was absolutely gorgeous, and Alfred found himself fawning over the girl's irresistibly delectable looks.

Next to her was a pasty and lanky boy with tousled blonde hair, insanely thick eyebrows (Alfred stifled a giggle), a too-good-for-you attitude, and emerald greens... Exactly like the pairs that had been glaring at Alfred not too long ago.

Their existence at the table dropped Alfred's comfort zone, as well as the shaking boy beside him. "Who are they?" Alfred asked suspiciously, leaning close to Matthew's ear to prevent the other two from hearing their conversation.

"They're the it couple of the school," Matthew explained quietly. "The girl is Samira, and she is apparently from a small island called Seychelles. Her boyfriend is Arthur Kirkland. He's actually a purebred Britain, and quite popular too. Pretty admirable, eh?"

"A little arrogant," Alfred scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "That Arthur kid... He kept glarin' at me this morning. What's up with him?"

"Eh, that's probably my fault..."

Alfred gave him a befuddled look. "How...?"

"Well, you see, mate... Arthur is my younger brother."

"_What_?" Alfred's voice accidentally came out as a half-yell from the sheer surprise of the fact. The two looked nothing alike, save for hair color... somewhat. They weren't the same shade, but they were both still blondes. Other than that, absolutely nothing. "You're related to him?"

"Technically, yes, but not through blood. It… is… a little complicated."

"Long story short?"

"His mother married my father," Matthew said with hidden remorse cowering behind his words. "We've been brothers for six years now, but he still hates me. He just doesn't want me to be in his life." The Canadian let out a deep sigh. "He refuses to associate with me, but he will end up sitting next to me sometimes. I have no clue why, though."

"What a jerk," Alfred sneered in contempt. "I would he so happy with a brother, but he just hates you for being forced into his family?"

"Like I said, it is a lot more complicated than that. Just forget about it, eh, mate?" Matthew's baby blues were full of childish begging.

"Fine," Alfred huffed out, re-crossing his arms. He stole a quick glance over at Arthur's direction and found him surprisingly staring at him. Taken aback, the American hurriedly turned his had the opposite direction to avoid any more eye contact.

"Obnoxious git," said a deep voice with a strong hint of a British accent. The only logical explanation was Arthur, but when Alfred turned his head to look, the nasty Briton was long gone.

Even though he had no idea what a "git" was, the American could at least assume it was a sort of insult. Thus, he let out a deep, perplexed sigh, pushing away the remains of his lunch. He glanced at the Canadian next to him, who just shrugged and gave him a look that signified an apology. Alfred forced a grin on his face, but he felt as if his insides were going to explode any minute now.

Sheesh, this is gonna be one fucked up school year….

* * *

**I found this in one of my old fanfiction folders. Apparently, I have up to the third chapter done. I'll be uploading those soon, but I just want to know: should I continue this, or just abandon it entirely? I know school fiction is pretty cliche, but I find that writing this is a lot easier than a lot of my other works. Plus, this is the only non-Spamano story I have. Sort of... Not really. XD**


	2. AFAIK

**Ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡ ➁**  
ⒶⒻⒶⒾⓀ

"Mom, salt."

"Where are your manners, sweetie-cakes?"

"…_Pretty_ please?"

Alfred snatched the salt from his mother's hands and began gingerly sprinkling his dinner with it. He then set the salt shaker down and resumed to eating. Normally, dinner was a sanctuary for his ever-growing pains and troubles, but this time, it felt as if the quiet atmosphere was doing more bad than good for the American. It made his thoughts run around in circles rapidly-almost dizzyingly-not want to stop. Like perpetual motion. And Alfred just could not live under the stress of such deep musings.

Only after the first day of school in England, and his usual calm thoughts were branching out into unknown territory, a silky string of intricate thoughts randomly interwoven together to form a messed-up and insufficient web. What his thoughts have been frequently edging towards more often than naught, however, was Arthur's obvious resentment for him. How come the British boy already seemed like he absolutely loathed Alfred even though they have not even introduced themselves to each other? It seemed unfair, yet considering what his best friend Matthew had said during lunch, he actually found a rather feasible answer to why.

Matthew did mention his "younger brother" Arthur hating on him, not wanting the Canadian to be part of his popular life. Alfred presumed that the Briton had an irrational hatred towards people of some sorts.

Though, the fact that he had a (very pretty) girlfriend was absolutely unfathomable. Who would want to be with some bushy-browed guy who took a strong disliking to mostly everyone he sets his little green eyes upon?

Then again, it might just be that Arthur hates males in general. That hypocrite.

The American let out a frustrated growl. Why would he even bother thinking about a guy who resented every single fiber of his proud American being? He should just shake it off, forget the arrogant British purebred ever existed, and continue on living school miserably.

Or maybe he could try being nice and become frie—

The blonde mentally smacked himself for having such idiotic thoughts, realizing that he had accidentally stabbed his dinner with brute anger. His parents stared awkwardly at him, as if he was an absolute madman, and as of now he was.

Sheepishly, the boy pushed his plate away and said he wasn't hungry anymore in the most convincing voice possible. Apparently, his parents seemed to have bought his little façade and was about to let him off scot-free when his father asked, "So, son, how was your first day of school?"

Alfred paused, hesitant on an answer. He then feigned a short smile, closing his eyes to drone out his contradicting musings. "Great. Just _great_."

➊ ➃ ➌

Green eyes continued to burn themselves incessantly on the side of the American's face. Another pair of eyes, too, though a peculiar shade of amber was glaring at him fervently. Alfred could only let out a short sigh, asking himself how he exactly managed to get two enemies already. Only on his second day of high school, even. He had always assumed that he was an affable guy. Maybe he would act like a jerk sometimes, but it's not like anyone in the entire world is absolutely flawless and untainted.

Slumping wearily into his seat again, the blonde began to fold his hands onto his lap and stared straight ahead, resisting all urges to glance anywhere else. The teacher's tedious droning on the matter of Revolutionary War kept the blonde slightly distracted, if for only a small fraction of a second. His mind, of course, diverted towards his Spaniard desk partner, who was currently nudging the American's ribs in an annoyingly aggravating manner.

"Read and pass it on," he whispered as quietly as possible. It might have proved to be almost inaudible if not for the fact that his mouth was extremely and uncomfortably close to Alfred's ear.

The American blushed at the close proximity of the Spaniard's lips, appalled that he would break into Alfred's precious bubble with such audacity. Nonetheless, the American grabbed the note and unwrapped it hastily, staring wide-eyed at the contents splayed out in front of him.

The writing was more or less legible, being a weird mixture of girly print and cursive. From what Alfred could make out, it was a note about the apparent latest rumor (already?) in George Stephenson High School. He began to read it aloud in his mind, with a rather professional-sounding voice despite the valley girl words:

_Like, this is totes juicy: the cute Italian kid called like, Feliciano is apparently dating like, the hot and well-built Gilbo. They are like, the first official gay couple of GSHS. There's seriously gonna be like, a totes epic surprise party for them at lunch to like, celebrate their awesome bravery and stuff. Like, congratulate the new it couple whenever you like, see them down the hallways! Feliks, like, over and out._

_Pass it on, seriously._

Alfred raised an eyebrow, but proceeded to complying with the command of passing it on, giving it as discreetly as possible to the person behind him. Fortunately, whoever was sitting behind him took the note without a word, leaving the American to muse on the matter. Once again, the subject of homosexuality was thrust upon him. No doubt the boy was confused beyond belief; was this common for people (in this school, at least) to celebrate the bonding of a pair of gay people?

_Well, whatever…_ Alfred began fumbling childishly with his pencil, a bored expression on his face. Everything seemed to go by slowly—almost too _slowly_. And, unfortunately, that's how practically the rest of the classes went on. As slow as a turtle. As slow as molasses. As slow as the American's grandfather's walk down a flight of stairs.

Even after what seemed like hours, the bell still hadn't rung, and Alfred lowered his had as if unto a guillotine. The torturous rambles of history couldn't even prove to pique the American's interest long enough to make the class bearable. The glares he received on the other end of the classroom didn't even help in the matter.

Suddenly, he felt a soft poke on his head. He turned his head to the side to see the Spaniard smiling goofily at him, his brown orbs bubbling with flamboyant energy. Just when Alfred was about to mouth a peeved, "What?" at said Spaniard, he chuckled softly and again handed Alfred another note.

Sighing, the American took it and began reading its contents:

_Oops, sorry, like, misprint. Feliciano is actually dating like, Ludwig. Totes cool, right?_

_Pass it on and like, forget about the whole Gilbo thing and stuff. Feliks, like, over and out._

Alfred almost found himself snorting at such a peculiar name. He knew that there were many a foreign and strange name in this world, but he couldn't exactly fathom how anyone could live with the name _Gilbo_. Nonetheless, the American proceeded to complying with the command once again, handing it secretly behind him. (Hey, he was becoming quite an expert with note passing.) Whoever was behind him took then note immediately, but this time the American felt a brush of skin on his hand.

Turning around curiously, he was shocked to find that it was the beautiful tanned girl who sat at his table just yesterday. She peered up at him and winked with flirtatious intent. Alfred blinked stupidly, but found himself absolutely melting at the charismatic display.

He couldn't even be bothered with the intensified glares stabbing onto his back.

➊ ➃ ➌

Despite the weirdness of it all, the Alfred had been expecting quite a commotion during lunch. All there was, however, was a small party in the back of the cafeteria, the new official "gay couple of George Stephenson High school" being showered with praises and attention and whatnot. Alfred had tried his best to avoid anything to relate himself with the partying freshmen in the corner and seated himself promptly at the same lunch table he and Matthew (and apparently, two other people) were sitting in yesterday. He was surprised to know that there was, however, a new person sitting next to them. Fortunately, he wasn't anywhere near the looks of the nasty Briton from yesterday. He looked… well, Asian.

Alfred gave a warm smile and waved, causing the fidgety Asian boy to blush. He, of course, waved back due to his proper aesthetics, bowing his head in a regal-like manner. "Konnichiwa," he said quietly, his voice a soothing serenade with undertones of mystery. Alfred quickly noted that the small boy was indeed Japanese. (After all, "konnichiwa" was one of the only few Japanese words he came to know.)

"Hey," Alfred said as politely as he could back, stealing a glance towards Matthew's direction.

The Canadian nodded his head, again as if he could read Alfred's mind, and explained, "This is my new mate, Kiku." He then moved back slightly and gestured towards both the American and the Japanese boy. "Kiku, Alfred. Alfred, Kiku." He moved his hands accordingly to their names.

Kiku, his face composed and stoic, bowed his hand again. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Alfred-san."

"Same with ya," Alfred said sheepishly. The American had little knowledge with honorifics, and he had never been called "Alfred-san" before. It felt a little awkward, yet at the same time he was somewhat happy.

Naturally, lunch continued quietly. Alfred didn't even attempt to even think about bringing up conversation until he realized that Matthew's (haughty) younger brother wasn't sitting with them today. The American scanned the cafeteria in spite of his reciprocating hatred for the Briton, and found that he was sitting with a rather large group of popular-looking people. Surprisingly enough, his girlfriend was sitting on the opposite end of the cafeteria, talking to a French guy. Arthur didn't even look the least bit angry. He actually looked _relaxed_.

_Sheesh, what is _up_ with him_? Alfred asked himself mentally, taking an insanely rough bite out of his sandwich (oh, he had forgotten to bring money to buy his lunch today; oh well). _He's so fucking annoying. All he does it wave around insults like it's nobody's business, hates on everyone upon a single glance, and he doesn't even give a shit about his own girlfriend. _

Normally, Alfred wasn't the type to get too angry, and at someone he had just met. But everything Arthur is was beyond everything Alfred disliked. Even from their first meeting, Alfred could've already expected the Briton to be a supercilious kind of boy with a no-care attitude. Frankly, Alfred was pretty much right on the dot.

Just then, the American could feel a pair of fiery green eyes shoot towards his direction. His baby blues briefly met with them, and he found all his thoughts dissipating into a puddle of mush. The Briton was glaring at him again with intensified cholera. It was possibly one of the scariest and most intimidating stares Alfred had ever seen directed at him in all of his fifteen years of living. It would take a miracle to see to it that he could chance another fifteen more if this kept up.

Frantically, he returned his gaze to his own lunch table mates and realized the two were currently in quiet conversation amongst themselves. Alfred hadn't really thought about it before, but he quickly came to realize that the two were practically the same. Like Matthew, Kiku held a calm and relaxing composure, and they were both extremely quiet when it came to strangers. It felt as if Kiku should have been Matthew's brother instead of Arth—

Yeah, he wasn't going to think about him. He wasn't going to think about him. He wasn't going to fucking think about that _bastard_.

"Hey, you know what I just realized?" enquired the blonde American, his cheeky grin etching onto his face. The two quiet boys beside him gave him a look of confusion, cocking their heads to the side to signify their bewilderment. The grin grew even wider as he spontaneously stated, "You guys are kinda like twins!"

"Eh?" Matthew squeaked, his mind addled by the American's sudden insinuation. "What do you mean by that, Alfred?"

"Yes, Alfred-san," the Japanese boy agreed in a flustered manner. "I would very much like to have insight as to why you would say such things."

"Well, I mean, you guys kinda have the same personality and all. I just think it's kinda funny."

The two quiet boys let out an "oh," as if realization just hit them. Even though it hadn't, for the American's logic was pretty out-of-the-ordinary for their comprehension. Nonetheless, the two presumed to chuckling forcedly alongside the guffawing American.

"S-so, any_way_," Alfred finally said after a rather dragged-out laughing fit. "Do you guys wanna hang out after school? At that Starbucks down the street?"

Matthew sighed sadly. "I would love to, mate, but the family and I have important discussion hour after school today. Something about me and Arthur…"

"That sucks, dude," Alfred said with genuine empathy. Living with that bastard would have to be horrible for the poor Canadian, and the American was here complaining about how horrible _his_ own life was. He felt sorry for his selfishness. Almost. "What 'bout you, Kiku?"

"I am free. Thank you for the invitation, Alfred-san."

The American's sparkly blue eyes brightened up in an instant. "_Awesome_!" He did a small fist-pump into the air, receiving a few weird looks from passersby as well as Matthew and Kiku. They ended up chuckling at their loud friend's happy-go-lucky attitude, looking at each other with relieved eyes. It looked as if they were sending mental messages at each other, but Alfred seemed to be oblivious to the little moment between his two quiet friends.

"Oh!" he suddenly interjected, fishing out a phone from his pockets and hid it under the table. _I am such an awesome rebel_, he mused proudly. "Can I have your numbers?"

The two boys nodded, proceeding to telling the American their phone numbers as said American typed with hurried speed on his touchpad. Finally, after he finished filling out the phone numbers and their respective names in each contact slot, the American nodded satisfactorily, pushing his phone back into his pocket. "I'll text ya guys, 'kay?"

The two nodded in response, then started finishing up the remnants of their lunch. Just in time, too, for the bell signaling the end of the lunch period rang defiantly through everyone's ears. A scramble of students began throwing away their scraps into the nearest trash can (some of them missing by just a few inches). Alfred, out of sudden politeness, told his two new best friends that he would throw away their lunches for them. Kiku bowed his head and thanked the American thoughtfully, praising him as if he was an all-powerful being. Matthew just smiled, and said nothing, that troubled expression resurfacing his face.

Alfred's suspicions began to grow even more at this; what exactly was the quiet Canadian hiding from him? What exactly was making Matthew become all anxious and worried all the time? The fact that the Canadian was quiet made it all the more harder to figure out. Alfred just could not read his mind at all.

Shrugging it off for now (he planned on asking Matthew directly if the problem persisted) the American made his way towards the nearest trash bin with three lunches in hand. He then threw them lamely into the bin and patted his hands with each other's, rushing off into the direction of the cafeteria's exit. However, he felt himself stopping in his tracks when he felt a burning sensation daggering onto his backside.

He turned around and almost yelped in surprise to find the nasty Briton glaring at him once again. Anxiety overtaking the American's very senses, he fumbled with his hands, shuffling his feet awkwardly. Arthur continued to glare.

"What's up with you?" Alfred asked timidly, his gaze falling to the floor. He felt his voice box detaching itself from inside him, proving his voice useless.

Meanwhile, the bushy-browed Briton stilled, not responding to Alfred's words. That was, until, he smirked suddenly and pushed the American to the side, stuffing his hands arrogantly into his pockets. The momentary time of shock the American faced only lasted for a second, before he snapped out of his own reverie and stared at Arthur's back angrily.

This time it was him glaring at the spiteful Englishman.

➊ ➃ ➌

"Hey! Kiku!" The boy in question turned around, a small smile gracing his face at the sight of his congenial American friend, his long arms waving frantically at his sides. Alfred suddenly was right in front of the Japanese boy, his crystal blue eyes full of mirth and his mouth flapping away incessantly.

"So so so," Alfred said, jumping up and down in excitement. "Ready to go to Starbucks?"

Kiku nodded, and soon enough the jet black-haired boy was being forcefully dragged towards their supposed destination by the hyperactive American. The Japanese boy cocked his head on confusion at the American's sudden abnormally heightened behavior, musing that Alfred was more than likely excited about something or another. The only question left to answer was exactly _what_ had made Alfred so excited, but he wasn't going to go about poking into his business. They have just met, after all, and it would be very uncouth of him to ask his new blonde friend such a personal question.

Little did the Japanese boy know that this was all just a little façade a la Alfred to rid his thoughts of the annoying Englishman, who somehow always managed to creep himself into his thoughts as if it was nobody's business. It definitely was aggravating, especially considering their little clash in the empty cafeteria.

The Briton was surprisingly a lot ruder than whatever the American originally made him out to be, if that was even possible. The fact he didn't throw an insult at Alfred even confused him more, but he supposed that it was better than hearing some fancy-schmancy jab at his pride.

He let out a short sigh and barged into the translucent doors to Starbucks, looking around in search of an empty table. He then dragged himself towards one near a window, with the Japanese boy walking promptly adjacent to him. The two seated down almost simultaneously, and Kiku bowed his head yet again. "I will order our drinks as thanks for earlier."

"You dun hafta do it, dude." His speech was slightly slurred from his stressed-out mind, but he managed a reassuring glance at the Japanese boy. "I'll do it if ya want."

"No, no, I insist, Alfred-san."

"Oh, well, whatever you say," he said, shrugging. "Iced Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha, 'kay?"

Kiku took a brief second to absorb the rather lengthy order into his head and nodded, walking off into the distance. Alfred stared out of the window, his hand supporting his chin. Right outside were a few kids playing a small game of baseball, it seemed. They were all laughing and yelling at each other. It seemed almost refreshing. Until, that is, he realized one of the boys was _Romano_—the scary boy who seemed to have an irrational hatred towards the American.

He gasped quietly and began covering his face out of fear. He then peeked through his fingers, nodding his head at his paranoia, and presumed to watching the game the boys played. Despite his scowling and petulant demeanor, Romano actually seemed to be enjoying the game of baseball. He was also rather fidgety when he was even the least bit close to a certain Spaniard. Alfred found himself subconsciously smiling. _It's actually kinda cute in a way…_

From his side, he heard soft footsteps, signaling Kiku's return. In each of his hands were a different kind of drink: Alfred's, and a weird green one.

When the Japanese boy put the drinks on their tables, Alfred began scrutinizing the green drink with horrified suspicions. "Uhh, Kiku… what exactly _is_ that?"

"Tazo Green Tea Crème Frappuccino," Kiku said nonchalantly with such matter-of-fact, it made Alfred blush at the stupidity of his question.

"That's cool, dude." Alfred took a short sip of his chocolate drink, indulging himself in the sweetness of such a cold, heavenly drink. "So," he began lamely—a silly attempt at conversation with a taciturn Kiku. "Where'd you meet Mattie?"

"Ah, Matthew-san? We have met during second period. We sit next to each other." Kiku, too, took a short sip of his drink, a small rush of bliss and ecstasy washing over his pale face. "He is a rather peculiar kind. I have noticed that… he exhibits a sort of troubled expression every now and again. I have not asked him of it yet, but I _am_ quite worried."

"Same here!" gushed Alfred as he took another sip of his drink, but with more intensity. "I've been wantin' to ask him and all, but I think it'd be kinda rude, y'know?"

"Agreed. I wish to help him, though…"

"Yeah, _really_!" Alfred sat and pondered for a brief second before a flash of inspiration washed over his face. He pulled out his phone and smiled, looking through his contacts list for the Canadian's name. "Maybe I should text him…!"

"Please do," agreed Kiku happily as he took yet another sip of his drink. It looked as if he made minimal progress in drinking his Frappuccino as Alfred was just about close to being done with his.

Alfred chose Matthew's name ("Mattie Williams :D" on his phone) and typed up a seemingly casual text.

**hey mattie! lol sup? :)**

He then pressed send and waited patiently for a response. Surprisingly, it came only a few seconds after Alfred sent the original text message.

**bored :( family talk right now.. i'm not even supposed to be texting right now tho**

"Mattie's talking with the 'rents right now," Alfred said solemnly, hints of empathy and pity behind his words. Kiku didn't say anything but furrowed his eyebrows in an act of sympathy for their Canadian friend.

Alfred fought with himself on whether or not to respond to his text message. The Canadian may just as well get into trouble, and Alfred wasn't so keen on that happening. However, he later decided that he should text him back. The Canadian did have the choice of replying or not. Hopefully, Matthew had his phone set on at least vibrate….

**dat sux dude… srry :(**

Alfred pressed sent and returned his attention towards the Japanese boy again, smiling. "Sorry for ignoring you, Kiku."

"It is quite alright, Alfred-san. I am not a very talkative person anyway." By now, his drink was half full, whereas Alfred's was squeaky clean empty.

Alfred stuck out his tongue. "I bet I can getcha t'talk. What're your hobbies?"

"Drawing," Kiku stated timidly, blushing. "I am also very fond of watching anime, and I play the piano and oboe in my spare time."

"Wow! Two instruments? That's awesome, Kiku!" His voice was full of genuine shock and amazement, his mouth forming an enormous "o" shape. (Though, he was slightly embarrassed by the fact he had no clue what an oboe was; still, he kept his mouth shut about that as it would've seemed awkward to ask.) Kiku was nodding frantically, very embarrassed yet smiling at the praise.

Suddenly, Alfred felt a vibration in his pockets, and he flipped out his phone in one swift motion. He stared at his screen for a moment and was very surprised to see that he had two new texts. He was aware that the first one was from Matthew, but the second one was from a mysterious number that wasn't anywhere in his contacts list. _Weird_…

Nonetheless, he chose to read Matthew's first (and he would probably completely ignore the weird text message, as paranoia started to trickle towards his head).

**it's ok. bro is yelling tho… scary…**

The American tried to imagine the Briton lashing out in front of everyone, and he found himself shivering at the very thought. It definitely was horrifying to see Arthur _angry_. His fuzzy eyebrows furrowed (Alfred stifled another giggle), his hands clenched into white fists, his mouth flapping madly and barking out incessant expletives.

Kiku seemed to notice the horrified look on the American's face, as he himself began to worry, asking gently, "What is wrong, Alfred-san?"

"Mattie says Arthur's yelling. Imagine how scary that would be…" Another thought, another shiver.

The Japanese boy found that he himself was shivering madly at the very thought. "That truly is scary, Alfred-san."

"I know, right?" The American fumbled with his phone, trying to come up with a good reply. For once in his life, he couldn't respond to a text message. Well, at least he couldn't come up with anything logical-sounding at the moment. He was opting for an agreement text, or possibly another sympathetic text, but he wasn't sure exactly which words to use….

So, after a few minutes of contemplation, he finally decided on something short and sweet:

**dat is scary lol. dude needs 2 lighten up :P**

Somewhat satisfied with his composition, he sent it and prayed that he didn't sound too rude. After all, even though Arthur did hate Matthew, it wasn't as if Matthew necessarily hated Arthur. They might have not been on the best terms, and they might have not been exactly blood-related, but they were still brothers after all. And, from Alfred's knowledge on brothers—and, mainly siblings in general—is that they really do care for each other, despite complex differences with nature and the such.

Of course, that was just him and his optimism speaking.

"Hey, Kiku, d'you have a bro or sis?" Alfred suddenly found himself asking without thinking first.

The Japanese boy was taken aback by such a random question, but coughed into his hand, nodding his head fervently. "Well, yes, I do have an older brother. And a younger brother. And a younger sister. My brothers are very annoying, however."

Alfred laughed. "Yeah, bros can be _pre_-tty annoyin', huh?"

"Yes, ver—" An old-sounding ringtone started playing, and the Japanese boy was left to fumbling in his pockets for his phone, an embarrassed blush eating up his cheeks. Alfred watched the boy with bemused interest, watching the boy clumsily take his phone out of his pockets, fidgeting with the keyboard.

Then, the boy sighed sadly and flipped his phone back in his pocket, bowing his head in that same regal-like manner. "I apologize, Alfred-san, but my parents are here to pick me up."

"It's all good, dude," Alfred said good naturedly. He began waving a passive hand towards the direction of the exit. "I'll see ya tomorrow, 'kay?"

"Y-yes. Sayonara… Alfred-kun." Alfred raised an eyebrow at the sudden change of honorifics, but found himself smiling slightly. He actually preferred the sound of "Alfred-kun" as opposed to "Alfred-san". It seemed more fitting for his image, and it also seemed less stranger-like and more friendly. Alfred, of course, loved friendliness. (One of the main reasons he had taken a strong dislike towards that Briton, what, with his rude behavior and all.)

Alfred decided to stay a little while longer before even thinking about leaving. He stared out at the window and realized the boys were still playing baseball. He then looked at his phone, promising himself that he would leave right after he got a reply from the Canadian. Sure enough, a new text popped up on his phone a few seconds later.

**u should tell HIM that :9 he calmed down now tho. i think he's txting some1, but he isn't typing... just STARING at his fone**

Quirking an eyebrow, Alfred got up and typed up a quick response, walking towards the exit with his head buried into his screen.

**dats weird lol.. tell him i said hi :P**

Alfred smirked mischievously and clutched onto his phone, walking outside. He was greeted with a cool zephyr of autumn air as he breathed in almost happily. Maybe all it took to clear up his mind a bit was his favorite Starbucks drink and a nice chat with his new best friend. He did seem a lot lighter than before.

Casually, the American blonde began walking down the streets, his strides perfectly even. He was definitely in a good mood right now for whatever reason, and he was not going to waste such a beautiful moment.

Finally, he felt his phone vibrating in his iron grip, and he hurriedly turned to look at whatever Matthew was going to say. His mind was dripping in anticipation, and so were his bright blue orbs.

**uhh he says he doesn't know ur name…**

The American slightly paled, dubious of the words for a minute. Rereading it just to make sure, Alfred began to gape, disbelief evident in his eyes. Arthur hated him, yet he couldn't even be bothered to know his name, at least? And he even introduced himself in front of the entire classroom just yesterday! Why I ought to…

Alfred stood still in his tracks and bent his face even further down onto the screen, his fingers fast and furious. His mind was in a heated bog full of Arthur, Arthur, _motherfucking Arthur_.

_The least the bastard could do is memorize my name! What's so hard about Alfred? Even a simple Al will suffice! God, I fucking hate him! He doesn't even deserve to hate me if he won't even to rememb—_

"Hey, kid, watch out!"

Alfred turned around, but was suddenly stopped by an unbelievable force. A sharp blow to his neck, and Alfred felt all his senses numbing as he toppled over onto the ragged cement. Everything was suddenly devoured into a perpetual darkness.

* * *

**I guess I'll be continuing this, but don't expect updates to happen too often. I still have… a **_**few**_** other fics to worry about, and the plot bunnies going around in my head are tempting me to start some more (plus, there's band, which consumes practically half of my life; we have football games and contests that last from ten in the morning to one in the morning… the very next day). However, I do have a plot line for this, so writing this won't be too hard. I'm usually the one who thinks of a plot without outlining it and writes it out, y'know? And that causes me to have numerous author blocks. XD**

**Also, in response to Ava's review… I don't use a thesaurus. I do most of my writing on my iPhone, because my computer privileges are limited; and it would be a pain to have to use a thesaurus app, then go back on Hotmail and type up one specific word **_**just because**_**, anyway. XD I have been meaning to make this a lot simpler in terms of descriptions and words (I guess) unlike my other fics, though, so I'll try to make it a little less descriptive and less "wordy" starting from chapter four and on.**

**Thanks to everyone who's reviewed. I really appreciate it. It really surprised me how many people actually liked and reviewed this. As cheesy as it sounds, it made me happy. :)**

**By the way, if anyone's wondering, Canada will be having a love interest too. I just can't say right now, or it'll ruin the plot. Feel free to guess if you want, though. P I **_**will**_** tell you that there's definitely going to be UKUS (and tidbits of USUK, because I don't believe in perpetual seme- and uke-ism), GerIta, Spamano, and AusHun. There's a lot more than that, believe me, but I won't be saying anything else until I find that it's the appropriate time.**


	3. BION

**Ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡ ➂**  
ⒷⒾⓄⓃ

Sweat, gentle caresses, chaste kisses… Alfred gazed around, looking at the enigmatic figure adjacent to him. He had a rather tall yet lanky build and a hair that resembled more of a tousled mess than anything. Currently, his hands were roaming around the entirety of Alfred's body—sweet and cordial, with hints of need and want dripping down from them. Kisses of equal congeniality were placed accordingly alongside the American's cheeks, eliciting foreign noises to escape the back of the blonde's throat.

Alfred was still weary. His vision blurred, he couldn't exactly make out who this mysterious person was. Even then, it seemed as if he was hidden in the shadows with no clear indication as to who he is save for the outline of his body. Despite his looking eerily similar, no one came to min exactly. Absolutely no one.

Except, the American was definite on the fact that he—the silhouette—is absolutely a _he_ indeed.

Alfred cringed slightly at the fact he was being kissed by another, and by a man no less. He had always expected himself to feel nasty being touched by a stranger. Yet, all he could feel was a sense of euphoria shooting through his veins from all the extraneous feel of hands and lips on him. It all felt rather exotic, and the American couldn't help but indulge himself in the sweet abysmal bliss from all this.

Another kiss here, and soon enough the chapped lips were trailing down even further down his neck. Alfred made a short noise most resembling a shocked gasp as his baby blue eyes stared down at his captor, whom of which was looking increasingly needy. With that, he was also looking very… salacious.

The stranger's hands hovered over the small bulge throbbing through Alfred's jeans. The American tried to scream out to resist, but his attempts proved worthless as he couldn't find any voice. Fortunately, the silhouette had no naughty intentions as of yet, and was soon throwing his arms over the American's broad shoulders. From the little light in the room, Alfred could see a rather maddening white grin plastered the stranger's face. It resembled that of the Cheshire's cat, showing of maliciousness, mischievousness, and curiosity all in one.

The stranger moved his lips towards Alfred's ears. The hot breathe trickling down the side of his face made the poor American squirm with unwanted pleasure. Soon enough, a few words began to spill through the stranger's chapped lips: "Hey, what's your name exactly?"

Shocked, the American veered his head in the direction of the stranger's face. Dim lights began to slowly flicker on, and Alfred found himself staring—staring at a very familiar beauty of emerald greens. Instead of the usual cholera, however, these were filled with loving care and mirth.

But, the American didn't even bother with that fact. All he could do was stare, wide-eyed, at the revealed identity of his captor. With a weakened voice, hoarse and vacillant, he stuttered, "A-Arthur?"

"You know my name? How cute." The grin curled evilly. Alfred soon found the Briton's hands touching his cheeks with feather-light care as he brought the American's face towards him. Then, ever so slightly, lips brushed against each other's in brief contact.

From behind his eyes, Alfred could see stars. He liked it.

All he wanted to do was scream his lungs out.

"Fuck!" The American, in a heated frenzy, sat upright and began rubbing his throbbing temples. There was an unforgiving pain in the side of his neck, and he found himself caressing that spot with congenial care, too.

Had it all been a dream? There was no one touching him right now, but his vision was still blurred. He decided to take a moment to inspect his surroundings. Green checkered curtains, a bright lamp off in the distance. A white-haired and red-eyed teenager smiling at him—

Wait, _what_.

White hair and… red eyes?

Wrinkling his nose in suspicion, Alfred pursed his lips and continued to stare at the weird albino. Said albino remained as still as a statue, his face still bearing that toothy grin. "Hey, you feeling better?" His voice was rough and raspy with a hint of an indistinguishable accent, but it also held a sort of genuine worry that surprised the American. It made him let his guard down… just a bit.

"Where… am I? And what happened?" the American asked, rubbing away exhaustion from his eyes. He could finally see a little bit clearer, though without the help of his glasses, his vision still seemed to be blurred. Nonetheless, he could make out a majority of the things in the room. He suspected it was a bedroom-one that belonged to a teenager who apparently had a strong love for anything relating to military and sappy soaps. At least, that's what it looked like from the various posters glued tackily on the green walls.

Alfred returned his undivided attention towards the albino. There was a peculiar look of apology etched on his face. "My bro's room. We were playing baseball earlier. Romano kinda threw the ball a bit too far, and it hit you. Right here." He pointed towards his own skull, somewhere near the lower back of his head. "Then you fainted, and here you are now." He grinned cheekily.

Grimacing, the American began to rub the back of his neck again, wincing at the excruciating pain that still lingered. "Who are you exactly?" Alfred's tone was weary, which made the albino laugh wholeheartedly.

"Really, Alfred?" He smirked. Just before Alfred could even dare open his mouth to ask how in the world the albino know his name, it seemed that the strange and exotic boy already anticipated the American's unsaid question and answered accordingly. "I'm in your history class. I sit right next to Arthur. Ring a bell?" When Alfred gave the albino a sheepish look, as if he was embarrassed he hadn't noticed the white-haired boy before, said boy only shook it off. "I'm Gilbert, okay?"

Gilbert? Why did that name suddenly sound so eerily familiar? Looking back on possibly every memory he clung on to, Alfred still couldn't seem to find out where he had heard that name before. But, then his thoughts drifted towards the peculiar note that was passed around the room just today. He remembered a very weird name that he was mocking… Was it possibly Gilbert?

Well, it didn't matter much for now. What did matter was he felt as if his head would detach itself from his neck any second now.

The blonde let his head fall backwards, feeling the heavenly hugs of the feathery pillows on his back. He sighed almost dreamily, and he could've sworn he heard a soft chuckle from the direction of the albino.

Turning his head to the side, Alfred noticed that Gilbert was getting up from his chair and swiftly made his way towards the door. The albino looked back at the blonde and asked suavely, "Do you want a drink? Food? Anything?"

"It's all good," the American replied half-heartedly. He expected Gilbert to say something along the lines of, "Alright, your loss…" but nothing of the sort came. All the albino ended up doing was staying at the doorframe, staring at Alfred intensely. It was as if the albino was going to wait until the American provided a better response.

Sighing with defeat, Alfred sat upright once again and locked his baby blues with the albino's bloody reds. It was like a clash of fire and water, of heaven and hell, of yin and yang. Yet, even with the eerie and very abnormal eye color, Gilbert's presence was overwhelmingly pleasant. Nothing evil of the sorts could be identified anywhere near his being. Gilbert was as lily-white as his… lily white hair.

Seemingly.

"Water and grilled cheese sounds pretty good right now," Alfred said plainly, earning an amused and mischievous look from Gilbert. For a brief second, those innocent red eyes suddenly turned dark. Not entirely evil dark, but it sure was malevolent-looking.

"I'm no fancy chef, but I'll see what I can do." With that, the albino finally left on the turn of his heel and dissipated into the dimmed hallways. He didn't even bother closing the door behind him, not that Alfred minded anyway.

The throbbing pain in his neck persisted, his hand naturally putting pressure on the sore. He then began shuffling his free hand into his pockets in search for his phone. Triumphantly, he pulled out his red- and white-striped cellular device and immediately turned it on.

The screen lit up, and Alfred could see six new text messages. Four were from Matthew, one from Kiku (surprisingly, for Alfred never gave the Japanese boy his number nor had he ever texted him yet), and the last one was from the mysterious phone number from earlier. Of course, he chose to ignore that enigmatic number with its clandestine text and proceeded to reading Matthew's various text messages.

**hey u still there?**

**earth to al?**

**al? at least answer me this once? I'm getting worried…..**

**did something happen? txt me back asap**

Alfred let out a sigh. For one thing, the Canadian was being too much of a worry-wart. He could have very well been perfect for the role of a doting parent. Alfred couldn't have been gone for too long.

Another thing, since when did Matthew start referring to him as "Al"? Whatever the case, though, the American was extremely happy. He even found himself grinning from ear to ear at the momentous event. Nicknames lead to a closer bond of friendship. He also enjoyed the sound of his very own nickname resonating out from anyone's mouth. It made him feel special and unique, and it also gave him a sense of significance—something he yearned for on a daily basis, but only when it was positive. "Al" was overall a cooler and more epic name than Alfred anyway.

He nodded happily and clicked on reply to the latest of Matthew's messages. He pondered on whether or not he should explain his entire predicament to the Canadian through text. However, the idea was instantly discarded. It would be a rather lengthy text, and Alfred was the type to keep his messages short and simple as to avoid confusion and whatnot. (He was also easily aggravated with texting on his phone; the keyboard was too tiny for him, and though he had fine motor skills, his texting capabilities proved to fail on him for his plethora of unrecognizable spelling.)

After a while, he finally settled on a very short text ("srry, will xplain l8er kk?") and sent it without another second's thought. He then turned his attention towards Kiku's message and wondered what exactly the taciturn boy would say to him. But, assuming his Canadian friend's overdramatic distress with trivial matters, Alfred thought Matthew might have texted Kiku about the American boy's sudden "disappearance". However, that didn't seem to be the case, much to Alfred's surprise.

**Konnichiwa, Alfred-kun. It is Kiku. I have asked Matthew for your number. Sorry for that, but I would like to thank you again for inviting me to Starbucks today. It was very enjoyable to talk to you, and I hope we may continue to hang out again. Best regards, Kiku. ^^**

_Such a long text_, mused he as his fingers began to dance swiftly across the mini keyboard.

**its ok. i had lots of fun 2. we'll hang out again soon, dun worry :) cya 2morow!**

After successfully sending his reply, Alfred pocketed his cell phone and wrapped his hands behind his head, laying down on the pillow again. His eyes stared at the ceiling, which were an odd shade of army green. As was the rest of the room….

Soon enough, the familiar echoes of footsteps started to resonate against the vacancy of the hallway. The random shuffle of feet made it sound like more than one person was walking, though.

Sitting up, Alfred peered into the darkness of the hallway. Just barely, even with his blurred vision, could he make out the outline of Gilbert's figure with various items in hand. Behind him were two distinctly similar silhouettes of same height, seemingly same build—same everything. Save for their peculiar gravity-defying curls, which pointed opposite of each other's.

When the albino finally walked into the bedroom, he quickly returned to Alfred's side and set down a plate with one giant grilled cheese sandwich. Quite famished, the blonde American greedily bit into the sandwich, savoring all its delectable cheesiness.

"You like?" Gilbert asked curiously. Alfred nodded his head in agreement. Red eyes brightened up with joy and accomplishment.

"So… good," Alfred muttered in-between bites. In just a few more seconds, the entire sandwich was hungrily devoured by the American. Yet, he still found his stomach selfishly begging for more.

"I had help from those kids over there." Gilbert pointed towards the door, which were currently being blocked off by a pair of twins.

Alfred gave them an acknowledging glance. The twin to the right held a cheery disposition, his eyes tightly closed and his face flushed pink, probably from over excessive smiling. His hair was a sort of auburn shade, that lone strand of curl jutting out from the side of his head. The bubbly teenager waved happily at Alfred, and the American couldn't help but wave back. Though he looked to be an annoying and clingy sort, it was definitely refreshing to see such a euphoric boy. Especially considering his contrasting brother.

They were as different as they were similar. The other boy—the twin standing on the left—was scowling, his face red with steamy cholera. Unlike his brother, the boy was more refined yet petulant in demeanor. His hair was a darker shade, almost resembling umber, and his eyes were liquid amber. It only took one glance from the dark-haired boy when Alfred realized he was Romano—also known as the boy who keeps glaring at him for being forced to sit next to Romano's not-really-boyfriend boyfriend.

The crude Italian was still glaring at him. Alfred gulped, turning his head quickly to the side. Gilbert's eyes softened considerably, and he gestured towards the twins. "That's the guy who hit you"—the albino pointed towards the scowling, dark-haired boy, who was apparently _still_ glaring, geez!—"and that's my… brother's boyfriend."

"Brother?" Alfred gave a contemplative pause. "…_boyfriend_?"

Giving the American a weird look, Gilbert let out a maniacal laugh and gesticulated towards a picture frame on the night stand. Alfred stared at it; the photo was of the nicer of the Italian twins hugging a very tall, blonde, and burly-looking teen, who looked like he was about to erupt with embarrassment and happiness considering his flustered and flushed face. It was weird, Alfred decided, but he had to admit that the two looked oddly perfect for each other… despite the fact that they were both men. He shuddered slightly as he reminisced his strange dream and forced it into the darkest depths of his mind for later contemplation—if need be, anyway.

"He's out buying groceries right now," Gilbert explained. "His name's Ludwig. I guess he might seem a little intimidating at first, but trust me, I think you two would get along great."

"You… really think so?" Alfred asked tentatively, unsure of what to say exactly.

Gilbert nodded. "Yeah. I mean, if he's able to stand Feli, he'll get along with anyone just fine." At that, Feliciano giggled sheepishly, his slim figure fluctuating from much figure.

"That's cool." Alfred feigned a smile. Awkward moments like these always made him feel very uncomfortable, almost to the extent of fainting. He should have been used to it by now; his parents were possibly the most awkward people in the world…

His parents… Oh, shit, his parents!

"They're gonna be so pissed!" Alfred gasped aloud suddenly, earning a few surprised stares from the teenagers around him. Upon realizing he had accidentally said that aloud, the blonde American blushed softly and nodded his head, trying to reassure everyone that everything was alright. Not concerning his future, anyway…

"Ve? Who?" the nicer Italian twin asked.

"My parents." Alfred could've sworn he heard a soft chuckle come from the three kids surrounding him.

"Want me to walk you home?" Gilbert offered casually, extending an arm with friendly mannerisms. Alfred stared blankly at the smooth palm of the albino's alabaster hand, noticing a small, pink, fleshy indent buried deep within. It looked like it was a purposeful scar, something made by the scathe of a sharp knife. Alfred shivered slightly at the rather macabre image. How exactly did Gilbert get that eerie, enigmatic scar…?

Before he could further fathom his question, Gilbert began prodding the American with a sole finger impatiently, his expression an amalgam of annoyance and amusement. "Well? Are you gonna take me up on my offer? I'm not the kind who usually does this, y'know."

"Okay, okay! Geez, dude!" Alfred grinned. "But I dunno where my house is, actually. I just moved here, 'member?"

"Oh yeah… _Foreigner_," Gilbert said in a mocking tone, nodding his head in approval. Alfred wasn't sure whether or not that was a term used to solely make fun of him in a rude way or a friendly way. Either way, the American accepted the albino's free hand and jumped out of bed, his body softly tumbling into the albino's.

On the immediate of the gentle impact, the flushed blonde pushed away in embarrassment, recomposing himself whilst the albino stared on awkwardly, flushing himself.

"Err, I," Alfred stuttered hesitantly, fumbling with this own fingers, looking down uncharacteristically tentatively. "Uhh… Yeah… Sorry…"

"Don't make me bring out the awkward turtle," Gilbert warned playfully, positioning his hands on top of each other and moving his thumbs in a fluctuating motion. The American chuckled softly in response and gave a weak punch to the albino's arm, only to receive a weird stare from said albino. A weird stare that further enforced the awkwardness. A weird stare that was sparkling, beautiful, hypnotic…

"Hurry up, foreigner!"

Alfred pulled himself out of his sudden reverie and trailed swiftly behind the albino, watching every fluctuating motion of his body with careful precision, eyes hazy.

All the while, the Italian twins left alone in the room looked at each other suspiciously, thinking the exact same thing.

_What the hell… That bastard just texted me…_

_I wonder what Luddy is up to?_

Err…

➊ ➃ ➌

The walk was silent. Maybe a little too silent for Alfred's tastes, though he couldn't exactly complain. Being with the albino (and apparently, a self-proclaimed Prussian, as the albino hastily stated just a few minutes ago) was awkward, for some reason. Gilbert didn't seem like the taciturn type at all, but as of that moment, the atmosphere around them was intimidatingly awkward… serious… quiet… as if Gilbert didn't like him at all. Alfred wasn't sure if that was the case, but the fact of the matter was _Gilbert was being too damn quiet_.

And, don't get him wrong; Alfred would speak up if he wanted to, but he wouldn't, especially considering he just moved here. He still felt like a complete and utter stranger in a world that wouldn't just accept him with a snap of a finger. What if he accidentally said something rude that would have otherwise seemed normal back in the states? What if he ridiculed himself by sounding a bit too America, or maybe a bit too fake-British? Gilbert did refer to the American as "foreigner" now. And, unfortunately, he still wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Hey, foreigner, you're being a little too quiet…" Gilbert said suddenly, as if he pulled out that very thought from Alfred's brain.

"You are too," the American interjected, giving a noiseless sigh. He stopped in his tracks when he saw that the albino did, the self-proclaimed Prussian turning around to face the blonde, blue eyes meeting red. And Alfred gaped; there it was again, that mesmerizing gaze, full of weird attention and unique comeliness.

"That's only because you are," the albino reasoned with his weird logic. Alfred wrinkled his nose at that. "Just talk about something. _Anything_."

Alfred scratched his head, pondering on the albino's question for a short second. "Uhh, err…" The American subconsciously prolonged his I-don't-know-what-to-say err, making Gilbert chuckle softly.

"Do you wanna play a game, then, foreigner?" the albino asked after a few minutes of a constant string of fumbling noise a la Alfred. The American, having snapped out of his little phase, nodded in agreement, though tilted his head slightly to indicate his confusion.

"What kind of game?"

"Random questions," Gilbert beamed happily. "I always used to play this with my best friend. He was really quiet, but he started opening up to me after a good round of questions. Now he's gone all quiet again, though, and he's been ignoring me like I'm some kind of virus or something."

Alfred quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, why's that?"

"Never mind that." Gilbert's eyes flickered to something demonic again, but they quickly diverted back to its normal nonchalance. He then breathed out slowly, his shoulders hunching upwards, and he flashed the blonde American the whitest, grin-smirk. Alfred only reciprocated with his rubicund face, puffed out in an embarrassing red shade. _What's wrong with me…?_ "You can go first," the self-proclaimed Prussian offered congenially, still smirking wide.

"Dammit," Alfred cursed, trying to force his curling lips downwards (but, unfortunately, to no avail). "Who's your best friend?"

"Used to be Wilmot"—(Alfred wondered to himself, _Who's Wilmot_?)—"but like I said, he's going all cold shoulder with me." He rolled his eyes apathetically. "Right now? Toni. You know, that weird guy you sit next to?"

"Oh yeah!" Alfred ejaculated in an epiphany-like manner.

"Yeah, yeah. Romano has the hots for him, just saying. That's why he hates you. Thinks you're gonna steal Toni away from him or something," Gilbert stated nonchalantly, waving a passive hand. "Who's _your_ best friend?"

"Cheater!" Alfred grinned. "Uhh, I'm not sure actually. Either Mat or Kiku, maybe even Arthur…"

"_Arthur Kirkland_?"

"Just kidding, dude!" Alfred made a look of disgust, wrinkling his nose in the process. "He hates my fucking guts."

"No surprise there," Gilbert scoffed haughtily. "He hates a lot of guys. He's the most popular guy in school, though. Must be because his family's rich. I suppose he's a little good-looking, too, for a bushy-browed spoiled brat and all… But yeah, he hates me too. He started calling me Gilbo, and I hate it _so_ much. Everyone's calling me that now!"

"That bastard," Alfred said with venom seething from his lips, his eyebrows pointed downwards in a menacingly choleric manner. "What's wrong about Gilbo, though? It doesn't sound that bad to me, dude."

"You don't understand, foreigner." Gilbert sighed, looking out into the dreary orange skies with melancholic eyes. His posture slumped down, then went erect again, his hands quivering. "I… I'm an o—"

"Alfred Frederick Jones!"

The two boys' heads turned around on the immediate of the stentorian yell, and they both found themselves facing a rather hotheaded blonde woman, the fine wrinkles on her face signifying the plethora of stress and worry and anger that was the bane of her youth. It, apparently, was also used to signify the bane of Alfred's entire being, and with that knowledge, he gulped loudly in fearful anticipation.

Gilbert smirked again, softly punching the side of Alfred's arm playfully. "Sit with me at lunch tomorrow, foreigner!" Naturally, it was more of a command than a question.

Alfred smiled, but then began to shook when he felt his mother's piercing glare bore into his back. "Uhh, if I'm alive tomorrow…"

➊ ➃ ➌

_Ring!_

The shrill shriek of the bell signaling the start of lunch brought much joy to the faces of the famished teenagers. One particularly ebullient teenager amongst the crowd, of course, was a grinning blonde American, his stomach rumbling from hunger. He hastily rushed out of his seat in the immediate he heard the almost-angelic noise of the heavens, and his blue eyes started scanning the entirety of the hallways for his friends.

From the myriad of colors, he picked out a streak of smooth jet black hair and began waving, his arms flailing frantically at his sides. Of course, the black-haired boy noticed the silly display easily and gracefully walked towards the blonde American in a tentative manner, his only greeting a simple wave of the hand.

"What's up, Kiku?" Alfred asked, his face bubbling from excitement.

Kiku cocked his head to the side, wondering why exactly the blonde seemed a little bit more happy and hyperactive today. "I am looking for Matthew-san. I remember him being right behind me, but it seems that he has disappeared…"

"Yeah, I've been looking for him too…" Alfred then trailed off, his blue eyes illuminating with newfound excitement. "Hey, do you know Gilbert?"

"Err, yes," responded Kiku hesitantly, his eyes quickly diverting to the side. "He is the older brother of one of my… _friends_, I suppose."

"He told me I should sit with him tomorrow—" Alfred grinned. "But that was yesterday! Which means today is yesterday's tomorrow, and he wants me to sit with him… today!" A sense of pride was within him. His cheeks, flushed scarlet, glowed alongside his ocean-like blue eyes. "He's kinda weird, but he's _so_ awesome at the same time, y'know?"

"Well…" Kiku made a construed face, not exactly sure what to say in fear that it may have sounded rude. Alfred just stared on with that giant smile of his, patiently awaiting a agreeing reciprocation from the black-haired Japanese man. However, before something like that could even happen, the blonde felt a shallow tap on his shoulder, and he immediately turned around, seeing a dismal and shivering Canadian blonde at his wake.

"Mat!" Alfred wrapped a single arm around the quivering blonde, laughing. "What's wrong? Looks like you've seen a ghost or somethin'!"

"I-I think I have." Matthew looked down despondently. "Let's go to lunch now, eh? I think I'm not feeling all that well…"

"You must go the nurse then, Matthew-san," the Japanese man piped in, trying to be of assistance. The Canadian, however, just barely nodded his head in disagreement, his eyes still deeply scrutinizing the ground in a shy-like manner.

"I'm alright, mate," Matthew explained softly. "Just a little stressed, as all."

"Well, alright…" Alfred sounded worried, unconvinced. However, much like all the other ambiguous conversations he has had with the Canadian, he decided to let the awkward topic drop and complied to his friend's wishes, taking the lead to the direction of the cafeteria with his friends following closely behind. Alfred and Kiku conversed about the most random things; likewise, the melancholic Canadian kept his head down low and his lips zipped. Neither the American nor the Japanese boy dared bother him.

It was, unfortunately, during lunch when that tipping equanimity turned into a heated, messy battle of confusion.

Alfred, naturally, claimed their table and reserved two seats for his friends. On his left was an empty seat that he made sure his new friend (Gilbert, whom of which was, Alfred was convinced, practically the most awesome person on earth) would sit at—_if_ the American was able to find him, anyway. Thus far, there had been no sign of the albino, and Alfred had been scanning the cafeteria for what seemed like hours on end.

Then, he found a messy tousle of silver hair that could have only belonged to the person he was looking for. Of course, being the flamboyant person he was, the American waved his arms around again in an attempt to capture the albino's attention, to which worked like a charm.

Gilbert, upon noticing the American's giant waves, snorted to himself and swiftly went off to their table. When he was just a few inches away from the table, however, he stopped in his tracks, his mouth opened and hung there like a fly trap, and he felt that there were disgusting doodlebugs bouncing around in his stomach. "_Wilmot_?"

And when he heard that name come out of the self-proclaimed Prussian's lips again, Alfred stared in disbelief at who actually Gilbert was referring to.

"G… Gilbert…"

The aforementioned albino narrowed his red eyes. "You never called me by that. It was always Gilpire, New Prussia, Gilly… just plain Gil."

"I…"

"What happened, Wilmot? We used to be best friends, but you've been ignoring me since summer, and I have no clue what I did wrong to deserve any of this cold shoulder-ing!"

"I…!"

"I still want to be friends with you, Wilmot. I still want us to be _best_ friends."

"But… I…"

"Wait, just hear me out this once, Wilmot. I am _not_ going to be mad at you for whatever reason you might have of ignoring me, but really… I…" He paused, startled. "W-Wilmot?"

The Canadian slowly fainted on the lunch table, his face smashed into his newly-opened fruit smoothie yogurt, his entire body having gone entirely lifeless and limp. Kiku gasped and almost fainted in the same exact manner. Alfred kept asking himself all sorts of questions mentally, all the while running off to find a nurse, a teacher—_anyone_. And Gilbert, who after a few minutes snapped out of his sudden state of paralysis, frantically wrapped his arms around Matthew's waist and easily picked him off of the table, securing the blacked-out blonde in his arms in an elegant bridal style. He was sure, however, that Matthew most definitely did _not_ feel anything like a bride at that moment.

What he didn't know exactly was what Matthew actually was feeling, both physically and _emotionally…_

➊ ➃ ➌

_"Mat? Earth to Mat? Are you awake ye—"_

_"Shut up, foreigner!"_

Blonde eyelashes slowly fluttered open, revealing a pair of hazy blue eyes. It took a few moments for his vision to clear, but once it finally did, the poor, tentative Canadian began to quiver again, his flushed face indicating another possible fainting to occur. Especially considering he felt something fleshy—something abnormally warm—wrapped around his hands. And when he looked down, he noticed it was a pallid hand, something too pale and white to be Alfred's. Of course, that meant it was Gilbert's…

Instantly, he jerked his hand away from the alabaster one, receiving a sad, teary-eyed look from the albino. All Matthew could do was look away in spiteful guilt.

"Hey," Alfred said worriedly but with the nagging pretense of a mother, "what was that all about?"

"I…" He stared longingly, wistfully, at the albino, then let out a long sigh. "May I speak to Alfred alone?" He directed his question at the albino, who looked hurtfully at the dry and acidic tone of the Canadian. However, as much as he was against it, Gilbert complied and slowly made his way out of the nurse's office, not daring to look back.

Alfred just frowned, confused, a bad taste of premonitions of drama in his mouth. "What the hell's going on, dude? And why does he call you _Wilmot_?"

"Alfred, it's a long story, really…"

"That's what you said about the whole Arthur thing." Alfred scowled impatiently. "Just tell me. I know we haven't known each other for that long, but, well, I hope we get to know each other for a long time. And I really hope you can trust me and everythin'…"

"Err…" The Canadian sighed. "Alright, alright. I'll start from the top, but let me warn you, this will be one long explanation."

"I'm all ears, dude," Alfred said, pointing towards his ears. Matthew softly chuckled, the tense atmosphere dissolving slightly into something more playful. However, in a matter of seconds, it returned full force, the Canadian's face becoming grave, dismal, fearful…

"First off, mate, Wilmot is an inside joke between us. You should do some research about it, but I will tell you half of it: he calls me that because it sounds like my name in reverse. Wil… Williams. Mot… Mat…" He let out a deep breathe, in and out, in and out, slowly, surely, to relax himself—to get him ready for the long lecture to come. "Anyway. We've known each other for a long time, and we're best friends. We tell each other _everything_."

"Isn't that kinda girly?"

"Eh… be quiet, mate…" Matthew stuck his tongue out playfully. "As I was saying, we tell each other everything. But, sometimes, I suppose it's not the best idea to actually tell him _everything_ everything…. Last summer, you see, I told him I had a crush on his sister, and—"

"Is she cute?" Alfred stuck his tongue out. "C'mon, dude, specifics!"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "And you call _me_ girly?" he asked, scoffing. "Her name is Emma. Emma Beilschmidt. She is _the_ prettiest girl I've ever seen in my entire life… Blonde hair, green eyes, the most amazing smile," he whispered with a surreal and magical tone in his voice, as if he was just touched and kissed by an angel. "He's always known I liked her, though. I'm sure of it. But that summer, when I actually got my act together and told him about it, he told me that his sister liked this guy named Antonio." He sighed. "And then... And then..."

"C'mon, spit it out already!"

"Well, if you actually stopped interrupting me." He huffed out his chest. "Well, Gilbert walked up to me and told me he's gay…"

Alfred fumbled with his fingers uncomfortably. "That must've been awkward, dude. I'm sorry—"

"—for me."

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry for you."

"No, not that," Matthew deadpanned gravely. "He likes me, Alfred. Gilbert likes me, and you know what I did?"

"What?"

"I slapped him. Then I ran off."

Alfred gaped in disbelief, his mind trying to fully comprehend the Canadian's ludicrous words. "_You_? Slap _him_?" The American never would have thought that someone as passive as the Canadian actually had the heart to slap someone, especially someone like their best friend.

Former best friend, anyway.

"Yes, I slapped him. Now I can never look at him again. I still want to be friends with him, but I'm not gay, Alfred. I'm straight, and I'm staying that way." He pursed his lips. "My entire family is against homosexuals, especially Arthur. We're die-hard Catholics. My parents… No, Arthur would definitely murder me if I was in a relationship with another guy. I wouldn't want to be in one, anyway." Matthew nodded his head sadly. "It's sinful, and it's not right."

"True that, dude. _But_… Mat…" With a deep, meaningful look of empathy, the blonde American carefully caressed the Canadian's shivering arm, nodding reassuringly. "I'm not much for advice with stuff like this… but I think you should still be friends with him, y'know? He's a cool guy. He even told me himself that he'd be fine with you guys being just friends, as long as you don't ignore him and stuff."

"He… is." The Canadian couldn't help but smile in spite of himself. "I suppose I'll talk to him, mate. What's to lose, eh?"

"That's the spirit!" Alfred said happily, high-fiving the Canadian lamely. They both stared at each other for a small second, puffed out their faces in the silliest fashion, and broke out into simultaneous fits of laughter, their stentorian bellowing echoing all throughout the nurse's office. It was sweet times of friendship like these, the American was convinced, that he really enjoyed; drama never had been his strong suit, after all. Who needed to drown one's self in a sea of stress instead of enjoying one's life?

Absolutely no one, right?

The blonde's blue eyes sparkled with fervent passion. "Hey, Mat?"

"Yes?"

"Let's promise each other that no matter what, we won't let stuff like this run our lives. Relationships, anxiety, jealousy… none of that, 'kay, dude?"

Matthew quirked an eyebrow in confusion, wondering where in the world the American even got an idea such as that. However, even then, the Canadian smiled softly and nodded his head, only to roll his eyes again when he found an extended pinky shoved in front of his face.

"Really? _Really_, mate?" He nodded his head and extended his own pinky, sweetly wrapping his with Alfred's, and the two shook each other rigorously. Then, with one final shake, the two destroyed the juncture of their intertwined pinkies and started out into the skies outside, watching evanescing clouds drift by slowly.

➊ ➃ ➌

**wish me luck mate lol**

"G'luck… _mate_," Alfred said in his best imitation of an English accent, his face screwing up in amusement. He flopped onto his bed, clad in his favorite Superman-inspired pajamas, and stared at the screen of his phone. He was having a mental war with himself, wondering how he should respond (he always did have a problem with that), and he finally decided on something short and sweet, as always.

**may luck be with you, young willmat ;)**

Satisfied, the American let out a short breathe of reassurance. Living in England, even in the three days he's spent here, hasn't been nearly as bad as he imagined. The only problem he had, of course, the Matthew-Gilbert relationship dilemma as well as a certain bushy-browed Briton whom of which he swore to himself he would stop thinking of.

Alfred buried his face in the pillow. It was weird, how someone you hate always seemed to sneak into your thoughts without even so much as a warning. Naturally, your thoughts would be filled of the things you wanted to think of, right? But, for Alfred, that bushy-browed, petulant, oh so-frustrating Briton was always in his mind somehow, taunting him and glaring at him and… doing very uncomfortable things to him…

He shivered, remembering his horrid dream, and turned his phone back on upon feeling the ticklish vibrations next to him. Two new messages: one from Matthew, the other… oh, the anonymous phone number. He had forgotten about that.

Debating on whether to delete the clandestine message or not, Alfred decided that Matthew's text could wait, and so he decided to finally read the text message (even though there was a feeling in the pit of his stomach that tried to make him rethink his decision). Anxiously, he clicked on the message and waited for it to pop up, his eyebrow raising upwards at the simple, friendly greeting.

**'ello.**

Weird. Short. _British_. The blonde had mild suspicions that a certain Briton—whom of which was always on his mind nowadays—was the owner of the text, but it was too nice to be him. Who else _could_ it be, though? Alfred ruffled his head in frustration, but decided to respond nonetheless, trying to stay as ambiguous as possible.

**who is this?**

Almost instantaneously, the reply came, the cute sound of a new message ringing through Alfred's ears. All the same, he felt anticipation, excitement, fear…

**Rather not say. Call me 937.**

_What the fuck…? _Alfred thought to himself, wondering what exactly "937" could possibly mean. He never was good at any kind of etymology, but the number deemed no significance to him, and he could have very well thought it was just a spur of a moment kind of number the anonymous texter thought of right now.

_Or_, going on a more cynical note, the texter was playing with his mind. Even if that was the case, even if the American was outright frustrated, he found some enjoyment in talking to someone he had no clue was. It was as if his rebellious side was rebirthed, and he enjoyed the feeling of freedom—very, very much.

**kk, 937. call me 333 ;) half evil lol**

Alfred clicked sent and waited for a few seconds, patiently—and, despite himself, eagerly—awaiting for a reply. However, when a minute went by, then another one, he became very impatient and started playing with his own clothes, lolling around his bed like an irritated child. He decided to text the mysterious "937" again, but only as an attempt to start some conversation. An _obscure_, general conversation, anyway.

**so how's the whether there?**

Alfred's entire face lighted up when he saw his phone flash with a new message.

**Rainy.**

_Wow_. So he was one of _those_ texters. The ones Alfred never found himself liking very much, and in fact always thought of as abhorrently annoying. Nonetheless, he still enjoyed texting this mysterious "937," even if his replies lacked proper premise for a true conversation.

Alfred, subconsciously, stared outside, and he realized that it was indeed raining, the drab sky crying fruitful tears of melancholy. He cocked his head to the side and looked at the text message again, his fingers trembling.

**u live in england?**

After a few seconds, Alfred received a text that confirmed his very suspicions. More and more, he was thinking that it could have possibly been that nasty Briton the entire time, and Alfred wasn't exactly sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Because, even though the aforementioned Briton was cruel… crude… a total _dick_… he had to have some history behind him, some personality other than being the personification of the magnate of the kingdom of douchebags. And, Alfred had to admit that Arthur did seem like an interesting person if you disregarded his foul mouth and his glaring and his man-hating…

The American smashed his face into the pillow. _Stop thinking about him! Stop!_

He returned his attention back to the anonymous texter, and he sighed, thinking of the possible irony of it being the irritating Briton. _I mean, what are the chances?_

**hey, jw, wut do u look like?**

**A unicorn**.

Alfred accidentally laughed out loud, but he put his serious mask back on and tried to get rid of an source of immaturity in his mind. He was mature enough; he was serious; he would find out who this anonymous person was no matter what.

**no 4 real dude!**

**Would you like a picture?**

**yessss! lol**

The giddy blonde awaited for the next text message, and when it did come, he hastily turned his phone back on and looked at the new message. This time, instead of the usual reply, there was an attachment, and almost hesitantly, Alfred opened it anxiously. Upon opening the file, his entire face had gone red, a silly rubicund head that just might have exploded with amusement. The picture was apparently of someone's hand with all but one finger curled down. All but the middle finger curled down.

Alfred couldn't help but laugh out loud again. If he thought about it, the way the finger protruded from the rest did signify a sort of unicorn-like image (single horn, single finger; hey, he was being imaginative). Naturally, he planned on keeping the picture for the laughs, but then he noticed that one of the fingers had a peculiar ring around it. The effeminate piece of jewelry was simply sublime, gold all around, a giant scarlet rock sitting in the middle in the shape of a rose. Alfred wondered to himself, what kind of guy would wear something like _that_? But he just shrugged it off and saved the picture to his favorites, responding back gleefully.

**ha very funneh dud!**

**Call me 937.**

**ok ok 937! do u wanna pic of me now?**

He felt like an idiot for asking such a question, but he was having so much fun, even if he didn't want to admit such a thing. There was something intoxicating about talking to "937". Maybe it was the mental British accent Alfred used for him, but whatever the case, Alfred couldn't—of course—wait for a reply. Naturally, when one came, he was left despondent, his ebullient smile dissipating into a frown.

**I have to go now. Bye.**

Alfred let out a sad sigh and typed up a feeble response consisting of only "ok, bye :(". The frowning emoticon made itself into his message unconsciously, and Alfred found himself blushing out of embarrassment. Hopefully, "937" wouldn't notice…

The blonde buried his face into his pillow for the third time, but was surprised to feel another tickle of vibrations. He expected it to be from Matthew or Kiku (well, more from Matthew), especially considering no one said "bye" more than once in a text—unless you were an official lovey-dovey couple, but… well, you know—but Alfred quickly realized it was the same number as the anonymous person from just a few minutes ago. He found himself smiling, a glint of hope shining in his eyes.

And then, he read the text, and the glint turned into something more of confusion.

**143. ;)**

* * *

**Another cliffhanger! I wonder who "937" is. XD In case anyone's wondering, Emma is Belgium, not some random OC. Though, if you've read some of my other Hetalia stories, then I guess you should know. That's my official name for her… most of the time. And also, the PruCan and future Spamano subplot will be playing a big factor later on; they're not just there because they're my favorite Hetalia pairings. ;P**

**I'm thinking of writing a Halloween extra for this story, too, but I'm not sure. Would you guys like one, or would you rather have the next chapter?**

**Also, I'll be having a little contest-like thing when it comes close to 143 reviews. Haha, get it? I'm so creative, huh? ;P**


	4. 4COL

**Ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡ ➃**  
➃ⒸⓄⓁ

Matthew walked out of his house with but only a red jacket and a plaid scarf, a brown satchel (not a purse—_satchel_) hanging off from his shoulders, inside of which were numerous Twix bars for "just in case purposes," he tried to reason to himself. He knew that his talk with Gilbert would be _very_ awkward, maybe even more awkward than his entire family going to some amusement park dressed up in the most abhorrent and embarrassing fashions.

Okay, well, maybe not as awkward as something like _that, _but close to.

With a reassuring sigh, the blonde Canadian began walking slowly to his destination: the park, where, as a matter of fact, Matthew and Gilbert had first met, one lone summer day. A smile crept its way towards his face for a brief moment upon reminiscing the sweet, sweet memory; however, as the dismal events of the present flashed before him, he let out another sigh—this time suddenly morose—and let his feet fall in front of him at a pace that a turtle could have easily beaten.

He never really actually thought about it, but what was Gilbert to him? For years, they have been the closest of friends, the bond between them a unique red string that was like iron: tough but malleable under certain circumstances. They told each other everything; they were each other's life, consolation, sanctuary—someone they could go to without a second's hesitation. Never in his life had he thought such a relationship could change just because of some unforeseen sentiments, of which the Canadian most definitely did not reciprocate. There were boundaries when it came to friendship, even a relationship that was as tight as his and Gilbert's, but it was that egotistical albino's fault for crossing that boundary.

But it wasn't as if Matthew liked it either. He didn't like having to ignore his best friend (or rather, ex-best friend; he would kill himself later for sounding a little too effeminate about this whole friendship ordeal) nor did he enjoy fighting over something as silly as love. Not that love was that humorous. Matthew was sure it was a grave matter, but the fact of the matter was, they were still so young and so fruitful; Gilbert couldn't have honestly been set on this kind of lifestyle, and if so, then he shouldn't _love_ the Canadian. They were only friends. They have been making that clear for all the years they've been friends.

And all of this changed just because… because…

Matthew looked at the entrance to the park, anxiously peering from behind a solid mass of concrete to see if the albino was there before him. Instead of the image of that self-proclaimed Prussian, Matthew saw nobody; just the sweet birds on the trees, singing their usually melody of the day. The tingly feeling in his stomach toned down to a mild feeling, and he entered slowly and carefully, his head turning around in every single direction as if in paranoia. Then, when he found that the coast was clear, he sat at a bench and shoved a gloved hand into his satchel (again—_not a purse_) and fished out a Twix bar.

He stared longingly at the peaceful, tranquil blue skies as he softly munched on his candy. It tasted sickly sweet on his taste buds, a huge contrast to the usual happiness he received from eating something as grand as a Twix. Naturally, he just ignored the taste and continued munching, his eyes half-lidded in an attempt to be both asleep and awake at the same time.

Then, all of a sudden, he heard that all-too-familiar voice next to him, the tone uncharacteristically forlorn. "M… Matthew…"

Matthew raised an eyebrow haphazardly. "Gilbert." His tone was abrupt and crude, wrapped in a coldness that paralleled the temperatures of his old hometown in the outskirts of Yukon. The prolonged darkness of winter, the chilling permafrost on the ground, the eerie sounds of a predator on the prowl… The Canadian shivered slightly, feeling a little warmer when the self-proclaimed Prussian awkwardly took a seat next to Matthew. They were sitting on opposite ends.

"I'm sorry," Gilbert said softly, his white bangs covering his eyes. Using his peripheral vision, the Canadian could see that the usually-pallid skin of the albino was flushed pink. In an instant, Matthew realized that it was not from emotion but rather from the cold, as Gilbert was wearing only a shirt and a pair of acid-wash jeans. No jacket, no scarf, no nothing to keep him warm. Matthew tensed substantially, his mind provoking himself to offer the self-proclaimed Prussian something to keep him warm, but he guiltily ignored those thoughts and focused all his attention on a lone piece of string sticking out from the side of his jacket.

"About what?" Matthew's words remained harsh, cold. Still like the winters of Yukon. Still like the frozen feelings in his heart. Being as stubborn like this… he knew he shouldn't have. He even promised Alfred himself: no drama. So what in the world was he doing, being so damn difficult? "What are you sorry about?"

The albino was silent, the only sounds present being the monstrous howls of the winds. Then, in a few minutes did he murmur something to break that gnawing silence. "Nothing."

"Then why did you say you were sorry?" A snarl, a scoff. A torturous, heart-grabbing cough.

"Because I _am_ sorry," Gilbert reasoned gravely. "But I'm not sorry about any of this. I'm not sorry that I'm gay. I'm not sorry that I confessed to you. I'm not sorry that you probably hate my fucking guts now." He pursed his lips. "I'm just sorry."

"It's not because you're gay," Matthew found himself saying unconsciously. His mouth gaped open in surprise; what was he saying? Did he actually mean this? _No_, he thought bitterly_, it _is_ because he's like this. It's all his fault._

Gilbert craned his neck upwards, revealing a pair of hopeful red eyes in-between strands of icy white locks. "Then what is it?" Cough. Cough. Cough.

"It's… because… I just…" The stuttering caused the albino to sigh deeply, raising a hand in an effort to diminish the Canadian's pathetic hesitance. All at once did Matthew stop, zipped his lips, and groped at another Twix bar. It only made everything more awkward, the devastating taste of rotten, corrupted sweets on his teeth.

"Look, I know you and your family are die-hard"—cough—"Christians. But you know very well that I won't make you do anything you don't want to."

"It's not _that_," Matthew desperately reasoned even when he wasn't sure what he wanted to say. He knew deep inside it was because Gilbert was homosexual. He knew deep inside that it was because of the fact that Gilbert liked _him_. But… but…

Gilbert coughed huskily, and Matthew twitched. In one swift motion, the Canadian ripped the scarf off from around his neck and wrung it around Gilbert's, his face flushed from fervent annoyance. "D-damn… G-G-Gilbert…!"

Gilbert just stared in awe, softly caressing the newfound warmth around his stony neck. When he subconsciously took in a breath, he found that it smelled just like Matthew: a peculiar, indescribable scent that was both pleasant and heartbreaking.

"What was tha—"

"You're impossible!" the Canadian roared violently, his hands shaking with anger. "The least you could do is bundle up! You know very well that it's cold, so stop acting all tough, you scatty smart arse!"

"I wasn't," Gilbert explained, the corners of his lips shaking in amusement. This side of Matthew was what he liked best: the genuine, honest side of him. "I ran all the way here. Remember, I live kinda far from the park, and my parents aren't home, so…"

Matthew looked away, embarrassed at the loving expression Gilbert was giving him. He felt as if his heart would explode any minute now, and the warmth on his cheeks made any kind of coldness in his body dissipate. "You should've told me. We could've changed to somewhere closer."

"The thing is, the moment I saw your text, I ran out the house and started running like a madman," Gilbert said sheepishly, much to the Canadian's shock. Said Canadian was completely dumbstruck after that, not knowing anything appropriate to say. He was mad, yet at the same time he felt happy that someone cared so much about him. It was always Matthew who was ignored. Even when he was the older one, the more responsible one, the nicer one. Arthur was always the popular, hot Englishman. Peter was always the adorable, childish school boy. And Matthew? He was a nobody to everyone.

Except… Gilbert.

And that made Matthew's heart flutter incessantly (though, he told himself it was some kind of weird and sporadic fibrillation). "Gil… I…"

"You called me Gil!"—and then cue the boisterous laughter a la Gilbert, which echoed sweetly against Matthew's eardrums. Just like good ol' times.

_Just like good ol' times_…

"Remember when we visited the Wilmot Township a few years back?" Matthew asked, the warm memories of the past flooding his mind.

Gilbert grinned. "Yeah! And New Prussia, eh?"

"Yes, an—" A ring tone that resembled the sounds of an octave glissando down a marimba started playing, and Matthew mentally cursed at himself at the annoying interruption, which naturally just ruined the entire let's-be-friends-again atmosphere. He looked at the screen of his phone and sighed deeply when he saw that it was his younger brother Arthur calling him. _And at a time like this_…

"It's my brother." Matthew looked away and stared into oblivion. "What do you want, Arthur?" the Canadian asked with evident annoyance in his voice. There was some shuffling on the other end before his younger brother's voice came, low and sober.

"_Mum and dad were in an accident."_

And it was at that statement did Matthew tense up, his thumb subconsciously hovering over the "end call" button, and after his younger brother's nonsensical prate of the details of the "accident," the Canadian couldn't take it anymore; he screwed up his face in spite and pressed the button, hearing a dead beep in the background.

Gilbert, confused but noticing the strange expression on the Canadian's face, just smiled warmly, placing a hesitant hand on the Canadian's fluffy shoulder. "Why don't we talk tonight… over IM?"

Matthew just nodded in agreement, and returned his attention to the phone. Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw the albino's figure slowly drift off into the coldness of the autumn morning, and he let out yet another sigh, as similar as it was when he left the house. Then, he quickly scrambled up from the bench and walked back home, his pace desperate and hurried.

➊ ➃ ➌

**Alfred Fosho Jones ****ツ **some britsh dude txted me o_O  
10 minutes ago · Comment · 2 Likes

**Jonathan McGillberry **wut  
9 minutes ago · Like

**Emily Thetallone Smith **What did he say? (We miss you Al!)  
9 minutes ago · 1 Like

**Alfred Fosho Jones ****ツ **"143" idk wut it means lol xD n yeah i miss u guys 2  
8 minutes ago · 6 Likes

**Emily Thetallone Smith **Umm…  
7 minutes ago · Like

**Alejandro Davila **LOL DUUUUDEEEEE, GO ON URBAN DIC NOW HAHAHA!  
7 minutes ago · 1 Like

**Jonathan McGillberry **lol u said dic  
7 minutes ago · Like

**Alejandro Davila **NO HOMO maaan LOLOLOL  
4 minute ago · Like

**Alfred Fosho Jones ****ツ **kk  
4 minutes ago · Like

Alfred couldn't help but grin at the pleasant immaturity of his friends and added a new tab to his window, typing in the web address for Urban Dictionary. Once the page loaded (which took a while; curse his slow Internet connection!) he typed in the term "937" had last sent him and eagerly awaited for the true definition. But, when the page finally loaded and he saw the definition, all he could do was gasp aloud, his eyes and cheeks burning in embarrassment.

_**1.**__ 143—means "I love you". One letter in I, four in love, and three in you._

Why would a _guy_ send him something as girly as that? Alfred shivered slightly as he remembered his dream from yesterday. Maybe the dream was a premonition for events to come. Maybe he would have to go through the same kind of awkward poor Matthew had to succumb through. Maybe—

Oh, wait. Alfred pondered for a brief moment; he wasn't sure if the ambiguous "937" was a guy. For all he knew, it was some fancy and smoking hot British girl! Plus, the fact that the bony hand in the picture was wearing an effeminate ring further assisted in his assumptions.

A grin, a smack of the forehead. Of course, wasn't it so obvious from the start? This mysterious "937" character was a girl! A girl that magically got his number… but a girl nonetheless. That in itself fed Alfred's egotistical fire. He could just smell the ashes of popularity in front of him… the sparks of a newfound relationship with a girl—a British girl, nonetheless! Just having a girlfriend with an amazing accent gave him royal bragging rights to his friends back in the states. He grinned with cocky arrogance. It all just seemed so easy…

Maybe a little _too_ easy.

Still, that didn't stop him from gloating. And, it was with a mischievous smile did the American start typing a new status on his profile. All the while, he was imagining how the supposed British girl behind the mysterious "937" would looked like. Would she be hot? Would she be ugly? Would she be outgoing… shy? The thrill factor of the enigma was riling him up quite a bit, and his legs began shaking from anxiety.

**Alfred Fosho Jones ****ツ **nvm it's a brit chick :) scooooooore, amirite?  
4 minutes ago · Comment · 11 Likes

_But_, he thought despondently, sighing, his fingers still softly tapping on the keys, _I still need to figure out who "937" is… I hope she's hot._

➊ ➃ ➌

_WilmoTown12 has just signed in…_

Gilbert felt the corners of his dry lips move with restrained euphoria. It had been such a long time since the two had actually talked over the Internet, but the albino had remembered everything—how there would be butterflies in his stomach just from seeing Matthew's screen name pop up sporadically, how idiotic and childish their conversations always ended up being, how he loved the Canadian's adorable little typing quirks and emoticons… But, even with ardent feelings raging inside him, he was still hesitant about starting to conversation. Naturally, he wouldn't have bothered fretting over such trivial things, and he would have gladly started the conversation without a moment's hesitation. But right now, in his period of mental hysteria and denialism, his pointer only floated above the Canadian's screen name shakily.

He nodded in disappointment for himself. What was he getting all worked up for? He was Gilbert—cool, calm, collected. He wasn't the type to get so stressed about a relationship. He didn't even like relationships; he's been all alone his entire life, so what did it matter to him? But, after learning and growing up with that Canadian, whom of which was in practically the same circumstances as him, where they were both completely alone and forgotten, it just seemed like they matched. They were like a lock and a key, and though it may have taken a while for Gilbert to realize it, Matthew was the one factor to opening the road to a possibly fruitful relationship.

Gilbert frowned. If only he wasn't a man, though! Then Matthew wouldn't have minded. Then Matthew would have reciprocated favorably to the albino's confession. Then… none of this awkward fighting phase would have happened.

**WilmoTown12:** gil u there…?

Gilbert blinked in surprise. Then, with quaking fingers, he began typing with a speed unmatched, fast and anxious.

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D:** Lol yeah, sorry Cx

**WilmoTown12:** srry for wut…

The albino bit his lip harshly, the salty bittersweet taste of fresh blood flooding into his mouth, oddly relaxing him. Gilbert had always opposed the idea of having an important one-on-one talk over some kind of technology, where you can't trust your assumptions of their feelings just by a group of pixels. He wanted to know what exactly the Canadian was feeling, what he felt about the albino. He wanted Matthew to be honest with him, and even though said Canadian would have probably denied it, Gilbert knew that Matthew was lying. About the entire ordeal. About _everything._

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D:** Why are you so upset? :,(

**WilmoTown12:** u never told me ur gay

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D:** Is that what all this is about? Lol…

**WilmoTown12:** no

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D:** then what?

**WilmoTown12:** im not gay

Gilbert sighed, his breathing taking a short hitch.

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D:** Ik…

**WilmoTown12:** i still like ur sis

Gilbert sighed again, this time his breathing slow and violent, as if he was on the verge to murder.

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D:** Ik…

**WilmoTown12: **yah…

_Why did everything still have to be awkward with _him_? _There was no use in trying to at least be friends with Matthew again if all the Canadian did was push him away. It was as if Gilbert was the bad guy, just because he was the one to confess. Just because he was the one of the poor souls who fell in love with his friend while said friend didn't reciprocate. It was a normal cliché; it was too common nowadays. _Heartbreak _itself was too common nowadays. At this age, nothing could be fixed with a simple, innocent—

**WilmoTown12: **srry

Gilbert blinked.

And then, it was at that moment that emotions inverted and the tables  
turned.

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: **Sorry for what?

**WilmoTown12: **4 still liking ur sis…?

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: **Why would you be sorry that you still like Emma?

**WilmoTown12: **cuz

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: **Cause why…?

**WilmoTown12: **just cuz!

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: **Just because WHY? WHY in the world do you even like her?

**WilmoTown12: **cuz she's pretty n smart n nic

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: **Is that it?

**WilmoTown12: **no…

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: **then what? What does she have that I don't?

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: **And don't you FUCKING say boobs, 'cause I DO have boobs!

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: **THEY'RE JUST NOT BIG AND ROUND.

**WilmoTown12: **…

**WilmoTown12: **her eccent is cute…

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: **You're only talking about her physical features…

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: **Peeeeerv!

The heat on his cheeks were from the amalgam of fervid emotion inside of him. Never in his life had he been in such an intense fight with the Canadian, and even though he wasn't exactly sure what Matthew was feeling right now, he was at least having the slightest bit of fun with the conversation. The fact that Matthew hadn't logged off yet meant a lot of things…

However, all the same, Gilbert felt as if he would cry manly tears from all this talk about Emma. He's known that Matthew has had a crush on his little sister for the longest time, and for what reason he knew not. Emma was a beautiful girl—smart, athletic, perfect. But it was that kind of perfectionism that made someone like her an impossible reach for someone like Matthew. Not that he was specifically saying that Matthew was way out of his little sister's league, but the two were just in a whole different realm of personalities. They didn't share common ground nor common history. But he knew that he shared that with Matthew; he knew that, deep in his heart, he was perfect for Matthew, and Matthew was perfect for him. No matter how sappy it sounded, or how girly it sounded, or how outrageous it sounded.

It was just a little bit painful knowing that Matthew didn't think the same way as him on that matter, unlike with their thoughts on abortion, the theory of evolution, maple syrup…

**WilmoTown12: **look, i'm kinda po'd right now, k? don't make it wurse

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: **What's wrong?

**WilmoTown12: **I'll tell u l8r…

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: **Phone?

**WilmoTown12: **no thnks

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: **Pleeaassseee tell me…

**WilmoTown12: **it's arthur…

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: **Pleeaassseee tell me…

**WilmoTown12: **no

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: **Pleeaassseee tell me…

**WilmoTown12: **no

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: **Pleeaassseee tell me…

**WilmoTown12: **NO

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: **Plllleeaaasse talk to me…

**WilmoTown12: **ok FINE. phone it is

**NEWPrussiaFTW! 8D: **YESSS!

**WilmoTown12: **ill call ui

Happiness tugged at the corners of the albino's lips as he hurriedly rushed to his bed and scooped up his phone, cradling it carefully in the palm of his hands. His red eyes strained all its focus on the screen, awaiting impatiently for the supposed call from Matthew. All time seemed to slow down at that moment, everything being increasingly nerve-wrecking, and the only sounds he could hear was the steady rhythm of his clock. _Tick tock… tick tock…_

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity almost, Gilbert's phone started singing his favorite song ("_Feel the awesomeness, the most obnoxious guest at the sausage fest…"_) and the Canadian's name began to flash repeatedly on the screen. Gilbert happily accepted the call and brought the phone to his ears, waiting for that gentle voice to come out of the speaker. Except, instead of that, he got—

"_Arthur, you bloody wanker_!" A frustrated growl, an indistinguishable retort, and a slam of the door. Gilbert pursed his lips in fear that he may say something that would up the Canadian's uncharacteristic temper, but after a few minutes of silence and something that he assumed was a light sob, Gilbert coughed softly and gathered up all his courage to say a simple, "Hello?"

There was some hasty ruffling noises on the other end of the phone, and then Matthew's hoarse voice was heard, coming into Gilbert's ears like a bittersweet nocturne. "_Gilbert… I—"_ It was an abrupt pause, and Gilbert could hear nothing but soft mumbling.

He sighed. "What was that?"

"_I… Gilbert, you don't… understand how… frustrating… he is…_" _No, _the albino thought bitterly, _I do. _Gilbert's face softened when he heard a snivel from the Canadian, and he felt his heart being turn into pieces at just hearing the sadness in Matthew's croaky voice. It felt like it was breaking; it felt like _Matthew_ was breaking.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asked smoothly, suavely, his voice empathetic. Even then, the Canadian's tone was spiteful and crude—the result of having bottled up his feelings over the course of the years, Gilbert knew.

"_N-n… Yes_," came the Canadian's defiant reply, another saddening sniffle coming out of him. "_But not right now… Not… when they're in here… Are you still… able to come outside…? I… need to talk… I need to see you… in person…_"

Gilbert nodded, his mind foggy and his heart fluttering, but then he realized he was on the phone and smacked himself on the head softly from his sporadic stupidity. "Yeah, I can." He paused—a thoughtful pause for pondering. "Do you want to meet at the park again? It's raining outside, though…" As he said this, he went straight towards the direction of his closet and planned out his outfit. Something that was warm and snug, and possibly a few extra scarves—just in case.

At the thought of a scarf, though, his eyes subconsciously glanced to the side of his bed and scrutinized a special plaid scarf laying across his pillow. "I'll start walking right now, so take your ti—"

"_No_," Matthew said. "_I'm running… over to your house right now_…"

Gilbert blinked. "W-wait!" he tried to yell out, but it came out as soft and desperate. "Matthew… you have fucking asthma! You are _not_ going to run all the way to my house! Matthew… do you hear me? M-Matthew!"

His entreaties were not answered, and the Canadian didn't speak. All Gilbert could hear over the phone was the steady rhythm of heavy and labored breathing that went tandem to the rhythm of his clock. Gilbert's heart started racing from anxiety, and the stress in his body was greedily affecting his thought process to make everything seem surreal and obscure.

"_Matthew_," Gilbert reiterated, his tone scolding and angry and hopeless. "I'm fucking angry at you right now. S-stop running, you hear me?" Gilbert's pleads and cries to the Canadian went on for quite some time. It felt like everything was tearing apart inside of him when Matthew just would not answer, and all he could hear were still the heavy and slow breathing that pained him so.

And then, all of a sudden, he found reassurance in that sweet, sweet voice.

"_C-come… outside…"_ That was all the Canadian said before hanging up. Gilbert's entire body tensed at the trite tone and hurried outside in only his pajamas, only to be greeted by a slam to his chest, and he felt something wet dribbling onto his shirt. They weren't from the rain.

Gilbert peered down and saw Matthew's face rummaged into his chest, the Canadian's flimsy little arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He was absolutely drenched from head to toe, and his hair was so soaked that it looked more like a musty yellow. But, even then, Matthew still looked like an angel that was thrust into his fortunate pallid arms, crying out of woe and pain. The albino just stood there, listening to the rain hit the roof of his house, and then he wrapped his own arms around Matthew's waist. He heard a whimper creep itself out of said Canadian's mouth, and the two detached yet stayed close, leaning towards each other in an almost-huddle.

"Matthew…" Gilbert said angrily. "You're crazy…"

When the Canadian didn't answer and just kept his head down low, his soft blonde bangs covering his entire face, the albino sighed and said, "Why?"

"You ran… for me, so I'm just… returning… the favor," Matthew reasoned. "May we please go inside?"

"Of course," Gilbert said sheepishly, opening the door. He let Matthew walk in first and followed promptly, closing the door quietly behind him. Then, he stole a blanket from the couch and carefully wrapped his beloved angel with it, slowly helping him up on the couch. The Canadian was coughing and shivering violently, his movements jerky and restrained. Hesitantly, Gilbert wrapped his arms around the Canadian's shoulders, but sighed reassuringly when after a few minutes, Matthew didn't push him away… for once.

"I'm sorry…" Matthew said in grieving melancholy. "Arthur is just… he's just such a… a…"

"Bastard?" Gilbert suggested.

Matthew smiled bitterly and nodded his head. "No. Worse than that."

"What did he do?" Gilbert's voice was soft as cream, but deep inside, he was raging with fury, his stomach scrunched up similar to the effect of eating something sour. "_What did he do_?"

"When we were at the park," Matthew said, his shivering having stopped abruptly. He carefully nudged Gilbert's arms off of him, much to the albino's dismay, but then he quickly draped half of the blanket over the albino. Gilbert smiled and gently wrapped his arms around Matthew again, feeling the dampness and coldness of skin to skin contact. "Arthur called me. He told me that mum and dad got into an accident."

Gilbert's eyes widened to the size of the diameter of Jupiter. "_W-what_? Are they okay?"

"He lied." Matthew's voice was suddenly bitter, spiteful. "That berk _lied_ to me just because of his stupid girlfriend."

"What about her?"

"She broke up with him." He smiled, but then he frowned, the tear streaks on his cheeks drying. "And she started texting this random dude on _Arthur's_ phone, and now everyone's calling him a nancy boy, and… and—"

"Wait, wait!" Gilbert exclaimed, holding the Canadian close to him. He subconsciously breathed in Matthew's special, distinct scent and smiled internally. "Tell me later. You're tired."

"B-but…" Matthew tried to interject, but the feeble attempt proved to be useless. So instead, he just sighed and succumbed himself to Gilbert's arms. The albino's heart rate started racing, and he knew that it was perfectly in time with the rhythm of Matthew's heart.

Everything was suddenly warm.

➊ HALLOWEEN ➃ **SPECIAL** ➌

"Alfred…"

"Your costume…"

"It's…"

"Uhh…"

"_What the fuck?"_

Having the spotlight on him, especially at such an opportune time of the year, was something he should have been used to; yet, his face was rubicund and his smile was sheepish, and he kept passively kicking the ground.

Of course, it wasn't like him to have worn something as… different… as this. It was a common costume: a short red piece of fabric with matching horns, a tail precariously sticking out from the back of his outfit, and a cheap and plastic pitch fork. But, it wasn't common for a boy like him to wear something like this, considering it was a _girl_ devil costume.

"_What the fuck?"_ Romano reiterated, the magnitude of his volume of his voice beyond the point of shrill screeching. His younger brother, Feliciano, softly giggled into the palm of his furry paws, his face alight with amusement. Ludwig's face, too, had evident traces of amusement from the twitching of his lips and the large peak of his eyebrows. Gilbert guffawed with great hysteria, his stomach fluctuating rapidly and tears dripping down the sides of his red cheeks. Kiku held a gloved hand over his mouth in a polite manner, though from his quivering shoulders everyone knew that someone as quiet and humble as the Japanese boy found the entire thing hilarious as well.

The only person who didn't seem to think anything was funny was Matthew, who simply nodded his head when he took one glance in the direction of his weird American friend.

"Alfred," the Canadian tried to say over Gilbert's stentorian roars. "I'm au fait with crossdressing… but _why_?"

"Gilbert said he'd pay me ten euros if I dressed up like this," Alfred reasoned, still flushing. He felt exposed in the effeminate clothing, but that also meant he felt a sense of freedom that he normally didn't feel. "_Ten_ euros!"

Matthew couldn't help but sigh. The rest of the boys giggled into the palms of their hands. "You do realize," Matthew said in a tone that of his own mother's, "that we will be going trick-or-treating _outside_, right?"

"Yes…?" Alfred's nose scrunched up in confusion. It was more of a question than a statement. "What does it matter?"

"Outside? Public? _People_ will see you in… this…" He stuck out his tongue. Matthew couldn't even look at Alfred anymore without wanting to punch him in the face for his stupidity. Ten euros was _not_ much.

"Oh, I know that! That's why I bought this." Alfred grinned and shoved something furry into Matthew's face. The Canadian started coughing violently and peeled the item away from his face, sighing in defeat when he realized that it was a wig. A red wig. A red sultry wig.

Alfred and Gilbert just started laughing with each other, their arms wringing each other's necks in a friendly manner. Matthew tensed. It wasn't because Gilbert was rubbing off of Alfred (though, that in itself was pretty scary).

No, no. It was because when Alfred put on the wig, he looked damn fine and very… convincingly girly. (He And that very fact made Matthew shiver in fear; he was convinced that Alfred actually being able to pull off a sexy she-devil was the scariest thing he'd ever seen.

➊ ➃ ➌

The sky was a dark velvet that wrapped up the children in a shroud of cold. The clouds draping across in horrific patterns covered the golden moon, ominous sounds creeping into everyone's ears. _Heh…_

Arthur shivered intensely, his legs and arms begging to be covered. Giggling beside him was the beautiful Seychellois Samira, her shoulders quaking with laughter. Next to her was a mature-looking blonde with vivid blue eyes that sparkled with malice, his mouth exposing white cuspidate teeth.

"_Oh_, mon ami Arthur," the mature-looking blonde said in exaggerated and melodramatic accents, his hands gracefully wandering around, glowing against the black of the night. "It is quite unfortunate that you are wearing such a flimsy piece of clothing, if you could call it that, oui oui?"

"Belt up, you bloody… vampire." Arthur glared angrily at the "vampire," who was, at that moment, sliding his moist tongue against the front of his teeth in a salacious manner. The Briton felt heat on his cheeks, from both anger and embarrassment from getting turned on with those voluptuous movements. Subconsciously did his eyes move towards Samira's direction, who fortunately seemed oblivious to Arthur's fretful demeanor. Of course, he never was too sure about what the Frenchman was thinking…

"Why don't _you_ 'belt up,' petit Anglais?" The Frenchman smirked confidently as he easily ruffled the Briton's tousled blonde locks, feeling the heat of choler on his head. Arthur just slapped the violating hands away from him and stuck out his middle finger. The cocky blonde in front of him mirrored the Briton's actions and also stuck his middle finger up in the air, the red rose ring looking darker when in tandem with the Frenchman's eerily pale skin tone.

"Why you…" Arthur growled, his hands balled up into fists, the blue veins visible.

Samira hastily interjected, throwing herself between the two fighting blondes before anything got too heated. (Though, honestly, she was actually enjoying the humorous arguments between her boyfriend and her crush. O-oh, did she maybe think that out loud?) She looked at Arthur, then at the Frenchman, and she found that they most likely did _not_ hear here or her thoughts. So, with a sigh of safety, she pushed them a foot away from each other and put her arms akimbo. "Artie-kins, don't be mean to Francis." Arthur smiled sheepishly. Francis laughed. "And Francis, stop being a douche." This time, Arthur did the laughing whilst Francis just blushed, opening his mouth to retort. However, after a cold and meaningful glare from Samira, he shut his mouth.

"So anyway," the Seychellois girl said, smiling cheekily. She looked Arthur over from head to toe and looked at herself, her eyebrows raising. "Why is it that my boyfriend is wearing a skimpier costume than me?"

Arthur flushed, embarrassed. He had to admit that Samira was absolutely correct on her deduction; he _was_ wearing something more… showy and ostentatious than his own girlfriend. While Samira was wearing a beautiful turquoise kimono with white butterfly patterns, her hair up in traditional Japanese style and her face painted with white, Arthur was wearing a clear white toga that reached above his knees. And that was all he was wearing.

Well, technically, he was also wearing a pair of attachable mini angel wings, a plastic halo headband, and Spartan-inspired shoes that lacked soles, but they didn't cover much…

Samira and Francis chuckled mischievously again, in complete harmony, and Arthur just gave them a warning glare. That only caused them to laugh a tad bit louder; the costume was just too much for them.

After a few bouts of contiguous laughter, Arthur impatiently tapping his bare foot on the concrete, he sighed, rolled his eyes, and looked at his friends with grave eyes. "Now, if you lot are finished laughing your arse off, would you actually like to, oh, I don't know—go trick-or-treating like we _planned_?" He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest huffily. "Honestly, this is not funny…"

"I'm sorry, Artie-kins! But seriously," she said, her shoulders still shaking, "why are you wearing that?"

"Antonio and I were fencing, and I lost. But that's only because _he_ tripped me!" He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, prior to our little joust, we made a bet that whoever loses has to wear _this_"—he motioned to his entire outfit—"and it went downhill from there."

Samira smiled empathetically, her tiny little tanned arms wrapping themselves around her boyfriend's neck. She nuzzled her face inside the crook of his neck and smiled, and Arthur started growling happily. "You poor thing…" The two looked at each other—green eyes burning into brown eyes—and their lips naturally attracted each other's, the juncture of their lips a haven of pure wet bliss and bridges of tongues.

All the while, the Frenchman stuck out his tongue, his eyes averting from the scene. His heart was pounding hard with jealousy, and he greeted his fake teeth together. "PDA…" he exclaimed halfheartedly.

The loving couple didn't hear him and continued fruitfully, lust fogging their eyes. The Frenchman was forced to stare and stare and stare… until he just couldn't take it anymore and coughed into the palms of his hands once, twice, three times before the two actually took notice in him. After they broke away, Samira gave the Frenchman an acknowledging glance and a wink, and Arthur offered his best smirk. Francis wasn't amused with the latter.

Francis coughed again. "So, dame"—he flashed a sparkly smile towards Samira's direction—"and… _gentilhomme_"—he glared at Arthur with fervent blue eyes—"we should start now, oui?"

"That's what I suggested a bloody long time ago," Arthur said indignantly, and Francis opened his mouth to tell him that if it wasn't for his heated make-out session with Samira, they would have probably been already finished with an entire row of houses. But, of course, he just feigned a smile and lead the group towards a few houses. Samira and Arthur followed promptly behind him; he knew they were holding hands.

Trick-or-treating around was the same as every year; knock on the door, say "trick or treat" in weird harmony, receive candy, rinse and repeat. They were already done with two entire streets of houses, and their giant Halloween totes were a quarter full (there was one house that gave away toothbrushes; the trio threw theirs at random passersby and laughed at the poor strangers' hilarious and ruddy expressions).

Unfortunately, they have seen a few of their friends from school, and some even laughed at Arthur, even when they had the knowledge that the petulant Briton would be the death of them tomorrow at school. Of course, everyone managed to take advantage of Arthur's embarrassing moment and took pictures. Arthur was indefinitely red from head to toe, like he was a devil in disguise, but he remained calm and cold-blooded, putting his nose in the air in the haughtiest manner possible.

Of course, it was after a few more houses did he cross paths with his older brother and his ragtag team. They were all laughing, they were all having fun…

Arthur snapped out of his reverie and snarled angrily, his green eyes hurriedly scrutinizing the entirety of Matthew's group. Matthew, he knew, was an antique pirate, Arthur's costume from last year. Feliciano and Ludwig, the flaming homosexual couple that he hated with all his heart and soul, were wearing matching werewolf costumes that resembled more of adorable puppies. Gilbert, the albino pariah, was Kick-Ass from the movie… Kick-Ass, and though Arthur approved of the wonderful costume choice, he didn't necessarily approve of the person inside the costume. Kiku, the only respectable person in the group (they were part of the tea club; it was only natural for them to have at least an ounce of mutual respect for each other) was… oh, he didn't even know! It looked like a strange mixture of a magician, a clown, a samurai, and an airplane—probably some weird Japanese fashion. And then—

Arthur's eyes widened at the lady in red. He's never seen the girl before, but she looked… strangely, the tightness of her outfit hugging every curve of her body. She looked absolutely and positively delicious, and it felt like Arthur's hard-on from an hour ago returned.

"Arthur," Matthew said in acknowledgement, nodding his head. Arthur scoffed and smirked as he snapped his fingers, Francis and Samira immediately running up to his sides.

"Matthew…" He couldn't keep his eyes off the lady in red. "Fancy seeing you and your dapper chums here," he said in a mocking tone. Matthew narrowed his eyes angrily.

"Same to you. Are you not aware of the weather?" He was referring to Arthur's short costume. Matthew's friends proudly sniggered behind him.

Arthur pouted, then smirked, his eyes still completely absorbed with the lady in red. "I believe your little tart over there isn't."

"Tart? What do you mean? There's no gi—"

Matthew stopped talking when Arthur nudged him towards the direction of the lady in red, and Matthew, for some strange reason, started gawking in disbelief. Arthur just shrugged and returned to his side of friends, looking curiously at that mysterious lady in red…

"Matthew, we're joining you," Arthur said imperatively.

Samira gasped in disbelief, and Francis snickered softly, his eyes rolling. Matthew's friends were just dreading the inclusion of the "popular" gang in their little group and stepped back a few unnoticeable inches. Matthew, who was still gawking, blinked and gawked again.

"W-w-why?" Matthew stuttered unevenly.

Arthur shrugged. "I'm just bored."

"That's your reason for _everything_."

"I'll tell mum about that time you left the house past curf—"

"I'll tell mum about your rendezvous with your girlfriend when you were supposed to be babysitting Pet—"

The two blondes kept rambling on and on with silly threats, and the rest of the spectators just stared, as if it was an amazing, five-star action movie. Of course, Samira naturally, like with Arthur and Francis, stepped in-between the argumentative brothers and pushed them away from each other, her scolding face returning.

"Artie-kins, Mattie… you two are brothers. You shouldn't fight." She stared at her boyfriend, who just rolled his eyes at her. She gasped, offended, and softly slapped him across the face. "Arthur Douglas Kirkland, don't roll your eyes at me!"

"I told you not to call me that," Arthur growled angrily. "Whatever, I don't care. You lot taking up on my offer or what?"

"We'll go," answered the lady in red, ironically. Arthur found himself grinning from ear to ear, and Samira just let out a deep sigh at her boyfriend's lustful eyes. Naturally, Arthur didn't notice the expression of contempt his girlfriend was giving him and happily trotted into his older brother's little group, being carefully to avoid the ones he hated. Samira and Francis glanced at each other for a short moment before merging into the huge crowd, too, and the entire group started walking to the next few houses together. Strangely enough, Samira and Francis mingled easily with the "unpopular" people, so much so that they found that talking to them was a lot more fun than talking to their "popular friends".

It seemed like the only people who weren't blending in with the rest was Arthur and… the lady in red. So, of course Arthur would have taken the chance to steal off into the night and talk to this mysterious, salacious girl.

With a soft tap on the shoulder, the lady in red turned around. Arthur's lustful gaze bore into the girl's beautiful blue orbs of innocence. "Excuse me," he started confidently, quietly, as he offered a hand like a proper gentleman. "What's your name, fair _devil_?"

➊ ➃ ➌

_Fair devil_? Alfred looked at Arthur in disbelief; what in the world was the Briton saying to him? Why was the petulant Englishman so… so nice to him? Did Arthur honestly think that he was a girl?

Alfred couldn't help but snicker softly. He opened his mouth to say something, but then he realized, _Oh, shit, my voice sounds nothing like a girl's…_ So, instead of actually speaking, the American gesticulated towards his throat and started flapping his mouth without letting any sound out. It took a while for Arthur to finally realize that Alfred was saying that he couldn't talk, and the Briton just laughed—slow and heavenly, just like a real angel…

_Alfred, stop thinking gay thoughts_! he reprimanded himself as he faked a glittery smile. Alfred accepted Arthur's lingering hand, and they tiptoed away from the group without being noticed. Once they were completely out of sight, the two looked at each other, smiled, and started running in some random direction. And, even though they didn't know where they were going, the thrill of adventure at their fingertips riled them up with excitement. With Arthur, it was in more ways than one.

They ran together for a long time, and they stopped once they reached a clearing, a single tree in the middle of it. The moonlight illuminated it beautifully with liquid white light. Without even so much as a warning, Arthur dragged Alfred behind the tree, holding both of the American's hands in his.

"You're beautiful," Arthur said, his eyes completely love-struck. Alfred awkwardly glanced at the side, the corners of his lips twitching. Maybe this was a bad idea…

Before he could back out, of course, Alfred felt something warm and moist on his lips—Arthur's lips. Arthur was kissing him. _Arthur_ was kissing him! Just like in his dream… But, actually feeling it in reality was a lot different than his dream; it wasn't anything special, just some skin-on-skin. All he could feel was his lips being flattened down by a vacuum. Even then, Alfred didn't mind too much…

Until, that was, he felt something fleshy push against his lips. Alfred's eyes widened, and he struggled beneath Arthur's grip. But, surprisingly, the Briton was strong for his lanky build. Either that, or Alfred was just getting a little too weak. Either way, he felt that Arthur's tongue successfully entered his mouth whilst the Englishman carefully pinned him against the moonlit tree.

_Shit shit shit shit shit…_ Alfred thought, but before he knew it, Arthur broke away. He felt the Briton cup his smooth hands around Alfred's red face, and Alfred thought the Englishman may be planning on kissing him again. Instead, the Briton just smiled and scoffed arrogantly.

"I have a girlfriend," he stated. "Samira. She's beautiful. Almost as beautiful as you"—Alfred smiled sheepishly—"but she's a cheater. All of them are. That's why…" Arthur stopped himself, and Alfred looked at him, wanting him to continue. What was Arthur going to say? Alfred anxiously awaited for a continuation of the Englishman's prate, but instead he received a small peck on the check.

"I'm sorry about that. It's my way to get back at her for cheating on me." He smiled bitterly, staring off into the velvety night sky. "That bloody tart…"

Alfred just stared empathetically at him. He never knew Arthur had a side to him like this, and he wanted so bad as to console him with his own thoughts, feelings—_anything_. But, he had to stay quiet, so he continued with his taciturn façade, the two looking up into the moon in silence.

Meanwhile, the rest of their friends continued with their trick-or-treating fun. When they were at the last and final house (most of their totes were already full) Matthew looked behind him and almost yelped in surprise at his revelation.

"Wait a minute… "W-where's Arthur and… Alfred?" Everyone started to frantically wave their hands around in search of the two blondes, but no one could find a trace of them. Of course, that meant everyone was suspicious of their disappearances, especially Matthew.

"Probably making out behind a tree," Gilbert said, snickering softly. Francis laughed out loud, and Samira felt the need to smack the albino until he bled to death.

"Stop shitting us," Samira deadpanned. "You know very well that neither of them are gay."

"I know, I know!" Gilbert put his hands up in defense. "I was just kidding, geez!"

The Canadian scrunched up his nose in disgust. "If they ever did that, then I'll crossdress and hang out with that weird Polish poofter for a month."

Everyone laughed at that and continued with their trick-or-treating. Little did they know…

* * *

**(****Don't worry, I'll tone down the PruCan in the next chapter and focus on UKUS now. :D)**

**Happy Halloween! :D The Halloween special is leaning towards more of an irrelevant fanservice shot that doesn't really pertain to the plot, but it does have a few hints for future things to come. Also, I might use a similar scene sooner or later… Hint hint nudge nudge. (Sorry for the fast pace in the Halloween special, by the way. It would be a lot better if I actually had a bit more time to work on it, but I wanted to get this out today; surprisingly, I wrote most of this today.)**

**Anyway, since everyone seems to be asking, the chapter titles do stand for something, but they're not that important to the story. If you really want to know, you could check a texting shorthand list. That's where I find them. Also, "937" does have a meaning behind it. **The first person to find that meaning can choose which pairings the future Christmas special will be centered around. **Here's a hint: it has something to do with England (though, that doesn't necessarily mean he's "937"). ****;D**

**Oh yeah, and just wondering, what are you guys for Halloween? I was thinking of being Jason!Alfred for LOLEdwardCullen!Arthur, but I didn't have enough time to make a costume, so I just went as the Queen of Hearts again. Oh well; honestly, I'm not going trick-or-treating anyway. I just like wearing costumes. Also, I have the job of giving out candy to the precious little kids. Yay! :P**


	5. TGGTG

**Ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡ ➄  
**ⓉⒼⒼⓉⒼ

❤ **Arthur Kirkland **went from being "in a relationship" to "single".  
1 day ago · Comment · 2 Likes

**Elizabeta Héderváry **UNLIKE! you better start xplaining boi or i'm kickiinh ur ass bak to canada  
1 day ago · Like

**Antonio Fernandez Carriedo ****ツ **Text me, si?  
1 day ago · Like

**Francis Co Bonnefoy **Moi too?  
1 day ago · Like

**Matthew Williams **F*CK :/  
1 day ago · Like

**Arthur Kirkland **Elizabeta, I'll text you. Antonio, alright. Frog, bloody hell. Matthew, I'll pass. Feel free to turn to your albino pariah, though. I'm sure he'll be more than enough to satisfy your homosexual libido.  
1 day ago · 5 Likes

**Matthew Williams **that's sick. im not even gay :/  
1 day ago · 1 Like

**Samira Adeline **Arthur baby… Please let me explain… ):  
8 hours ago · Like

**Arthur Kirkland **Matthew, stop being in denial. Bitch, be useful and make your man-whore a sandwich. Make sure to add some cheating sauce and pickles.  
8 hours ago · 4 Likes

**Samira Adeline **Arthur, I'm sorry! Seriously! I don't like Francis! I only love you…! ),: And he's not a man-whore… Francis is a major sweetie…  
8 hours ago · Like

**Francis Co Bonnefoy **Good God Kirkland! Stop being a PMSy bitch to Sammy. ;P  
8 hours ago · Like

**Francis Co Bonnefoy **Btw Sam, text me. We need to talk. If you know what I mean. ;)  
8 hours ago · Like

**Mathias Jørgensen **dayum some1's gotta rocks up der ass 2day lol  
8 hours ago · Like

**Arthur Kirkland **Please go to hell, you lot.  
8 hours ago · Like

**Francis Co Bonnefoy **OK. I'll meet you there, nancy boy. More than three, more than three. ;)  
8 hours ago · 1 Like

➊ ➃ ➌

A chuckle, a giggle, a feeling of guilt.

The brown-haired, pigtailed beauty intertwined her fingers with the dizzy Frenchman, who was laughing his head off and planting numerous kisses in every spot on her body. She liked the feeling of his lips on her tanned skin. She liked the feeling she got from just being in the presence of the Frenchman, sober or not. It just seemed so exciting and so refreshing and so _new_. She never got these kinds of feelings when she was with Arthur.

_With Arthur_… She sighed, remembering the days of her childhood when Arthur was the only love of her life. Their relationship was steady and seemingly perfect. He was the perfect gentleman, and she was the perfect lady. They were perfect—no flaws, no dents, no nothing.

It was so boring.

She yearned for the thrill of lust, not love. Arthur could only show her so much love that it got trite, tedious. There was nothing else for them as every single day, she succumbed to getting a heartfelt kiss and a string of romantic words. They were adorable the first few times, and she bragged and bragged on and on about how absolutely perfect Arthur was.

How absolutely _boring_ Arthur was.

She gasped when she felt teeth grazing against the weak, thin skin of her neck. There were tears in the corners of her eyes from both happiness and pain. She wanted nothing more than to stay in the Frenchman's bed for eternity, yet somehow, a part of her wanted to return to her lovely Arthur's arms.

But there was no use now. That Briton was stubborn, she knew. And, she also knew for a fact that Arthur had already moved on years ago.

Maybe it was because she was paranoid. Maybe it was because she really didn't trust Arthur after all. But whatever the case, she just knew. She knew of Arthur's enigmatic escapades with other girls, sometimes girls who were much taller and bigger and older than him. She knew that Arthur cheated on her constantly… yet she stayed with him for four more years. Why exactly? She didn't know.

She finally cracked when that new American boy arrived. He wasn't supposed to be in England. There was no need for a Yankee like him to even be in such a place as England. Yet, there he was, mocking her with his uniqueness and rebelliousness—qualities that she knew attracted Arthur, regardless of gender, regardless of anything. These qualities were also something that repelled someone like Arthur.

She always knew that too—the fact that Arthur was a hypocritical and masochistic mess.

The American boy… He was the talk of the town, that American boy, oh yes he was. Arthur was the one who talked about him the most, saying stuff like, "He will be popular in no time, trust me," and, "When he arrives, we'll give him quite a welcome, of course!"

What she didn't know was what happened. Arthur suddenly started changing, and he grew more paranoid and cynical and cold and snarky and snappy and calm. It wasn't like the Arthur she knew, and for a while, she liked it.

After that while, she grew to hate him. She grew to hate him and love him at the exact same time, and she just got confused and angry with herself.

Maybe that was when she turned to that blonde Frenchman, Francis. He was a player, everyone knew, but he was the complete opposite of everything that was Arthur. She wanted to rid her mind of Arthur, so naturally, she turned to that lustful monster. They had their fun times, but that only brought more drama into her life when Arthur found out about her one little mess-up.

She didn't dare tell him she knew of his own cheating ways. She just bore the hate comments and the "she's a slut!" rumors. Nothing could hurt more than the fact that she knew Arthur didn't really love her.

Even if he cried right in front of her when she told him they should break up. Even if he begged her to return to him after she started walking away.

Was it said, however, that it was _her_ who was still in love with him, after all those years of boring?

She groaned in agony. The Frenchman tugged at her spaghetti strap, lust still in his eyes, but she nodded her head in disapproval. "I'm sorry, Francis."

_I'm sorry, Arthur._

➊ ➃ ➌

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty."

"Mum, five more minutes…" said the trite Canadian groggily, his words slurred and lazy. His eyes were half-lidded and twitching, stubborn on returning to his haven of slumber, when the sudden epiphany of demented reality engulfed him in a sea of surprise. And, it was at that moment did his eyes open up in disbelief, his mouth open wide, and his stomach growling from the drool-inducing scent of saccharine. "G-G-Gilbert?"

"Yes, sweet stuff?" the self-proclaimed Prussian sang sweetly whilst waving a batter-covered rubber spatula in the air. "How many pancakes do you want?"

"Oh, just tw—_Gilbert_?" Matthew reiterated through gritted teeth, his dazed expression still unchanging. The albino rolled his eyes and chuckled softly, slowly walking his way up to the confused Canadian. Matthew just watched—watched Gilbert's hips move from side to side in the most salacious and flirtatious pace possible—and quirked an eyebrow at the rather… _girlish_ apron hugging the albino's gentle, manly curves.

Not that Matthew noticed. _Really_.

When Gilbert was finally in front of Matthew (after a very long and awkward and sexy walk, the Canadian mused ashamedly to himself) the albino flashed the spatula in front of the still-confused blonde's face. "Two it is. Wanna lick my white stuff first?" He laughed cruelly and winked for effect, licking the sweet white amalgam on his spatula, and Matthew responded with a roll of the eyes.

"Gilbert, first off, what _are_ you doing?" Matthew gesticulated towards the fancy apron as well as the batter-covered spatula. Then, he began to scan the all-too-familiar room, his face scrunching up in distaste. "And why am I in your house?"

Gilbert laughed. "I'm cooking for you, silly," he said, still chuckling humoredly to himself. "And you _ran_ here and practically died because of your _asthma_, in case you forgot." The albino softly punched the Canadian's arm, nodding in a motherly manner. "You know, you kinda remind me of Al for some reason." Gilbert grinned softly, ebulliently, but all Matthew could think of was, _Since when did _he_ start calling Alfred by that nickname_? But, of course, naturally, he just shook off that sporadic thought and continued to listen to the self-proclaimed Prussian's prolonged prate on the similarities the Canadian apparently had with Alfred ("As a matter of fact, you guys could be brothers; wouldn't that be cool?"). Matthew listened to only a small fraction of the long lecture.

"—and you guys both do that weird eyebrow thing." Gilbert wiggled his own eyebrows suggestively, then roared with laughter. "Anyway, you're gonna finish telling me about this whole bastard ordeal, right?"

"Bastard ordeal?"

"I can't say his name," Gilbert whined childishly, stripping himself of his pretty apron. He flung it behind him and set the spatula down, taking a seat on the couch right next to the smallish Canadian. "He's too much of a stuck-up, bitchy bastard—"

Something clicked in Matthew's head. "Oh, Arthur?"

"Yeah. So, what happened?"

The blonde let out a deep sigh, his eyes narrowing substantially and his nose scrunching up in utter disgust. "To start off, Arthur's girlfriend broke up with him a few days back. He was in a denial phase for a while, and he was a lot more… pissy this week, for a lack of a better word. Alfred even started telling me how Arthur keeps glaring at him; he usually doesn't start that until he gets to know someone a little better. I mean, it's especially weird in Alfred's case. Arthur's a sucker for the, uhh, 'unique' guys, I guess."

"Oh, poor Al… But I do have to agree. That kid sure is unique," Gilbert agreed happily, grinning and nodding simultaneously.

"But," Matthew interrupted abruptly, completely disregarding the albino's heartfelt comment. "He completely lost it during our family talk."

"Wednesday family talk night, right?"

"Yeah, thanks for remembering." The Canadian was mumbling, his fingers fidgeting nervously. "Anyway, he got so pissed off—and I mean, _pissed off_—that he started lashing at _me_ and stole my phone, and then he ran upstairs and locked himself up in his room! He didn't give me back my phone until the next day because Peter stole it back for me, but that isn't really important." Matthew looked up at the ceiling for a short second to contemplate. Though, even then—even in such a serious and grave atmosphere—he couldn't help that, from his stupid peripheral vision, he noticed that the self-proclaimed Prussian was staring at _him_ with a warm intensity. Likewise, he just kept trying to stare at the complete whiteness of the ceiling, hoping the temperature on his face wasn't too plainly visible. "Mum and dad got really mad and was telling both of us that behavior like that was a really bad example for Peter."

"Then, let me guess, he got grounded but you didn't?"

"Well, not exactly. Neither of us got grounded. Mum said that we at least had to act like we get along for the sake of Peter's sanity." The Canadian paused for a moment and bit his bottom lip. "Dad… he started talking to me about you…"

Gilbert raised a curious eyebrow, his wide eyes full of hope. "About what exactly? A-and _why_?"

"Apparently, _someone_"—Matthew coughed for emphasis and quietly slipped in his brother's name in-between said coughs—"told my parents that you… err, well… have certain feelings for me, and the folks started thinking that I share those same feelings for you. They wanted to talk to me about it in _private_."

"O-oh." Gilbert smiled, his pallid face glowing with an abnormally bright red light. "Well, there's no need to worry then, because you don't." Gilbert tugged softly at his apron, his eyes tentatively staring at the ground, and his stomach exploding with ticklish butterflies. "R-right?"

"Of course!" yelled the Canadian hurriedly, hastily. He noticed the hurt on Gilbert's face, and his horribly guilty conscience started poking at him. Matthew felt bad about it all, sure, but it wasn't like he would force himself to like someone just to make him happy, especially when it came to his best friend. They were always supposed to be truthful to each other regardless of how the other felt; that was what true friends were, right? To be honest to each other, and that was exactly what the Canadian was being: true, honest, not wanting to lead the albino on unlike what other people would do.

Still, it hurt him to see his best friend's eyes lose all hope, Gilbert's knees shaking as if he would break down any moment now. "Then… no need to worry."

"You don't get it. _They wouldn't leave me alone_." The Canadian scowled, folding his arms over his chest. His face was ruddy as the memories suddenly flooded back into his head. "I was so frustrated then that I guess I left, and here I am."

"I'm glad you're here," Gilbert breathed out slowly in response, which made the confused Canadian raise an eyebrow suspiciously. The white-haired albino started licking his lips and slowly pulled himself on top of the fretful blonde, who just stood there, momentarily confused and paralyzed. He wasn't able to completely comprehend what was happening. All he could feel was the softness of Gilbert's chest on his, a shallow but long breathe on his cheeks…

And then, Matthew started to panic mentally, his eyes blinking stupidly and rapidly. He didn't know what to do; what would someone do when your best friend was on top of you, looking desperate and definitely having no kind of control over his own actions?

The poor blonde, uncomfortably trapped under the albino's overbearing body, gulped and said weakly, "Umm, Gil, this is kind of… sort of… awkward."

Gilbert didn't reply. Instead, he brushed the tips of his fingertips longingly against the sides of Matthew's neck, then his cheeks, eliciting a strong and wonderful shiver from the blonde. Everything felt so surreal at that moment, and it seemed that time slowed down. But, typical Gilbert, being the rebel he was infamously known as, decided to suddenly go over the boundaries of whatever remnants of friendship they had left and started to softly lick at the gentle crook of the blonde's neck. Unwillingly, Matthew let out a groan, his arms violently thrashing about.

"Stop it!" he hissed benevolently. "Your parents might see!"

The albino gently nipped at Matthew's chin. "They're at work. They have early shifts, remember?"

"Y… your brother!"

"He wouldn't care."

"But this is practically rape!"

Remaining quiet, Gilbert continued to do whatever he wanted, and Matthew just stayed there, numb and confused, trying his best to succumb to his best friend's toying. It seemed weird, how things like these could had gone about, even despite their strong friendship prior to the life-changing events experienced. But, everything changes in time, and Matthew supposed it held some truths for his relationship with Gilbert, too. In fact, it didn't even feel like they were friends any more, though not exactly enemies either. More like… strangers.

Yes, Gilbert was a stranger in Matthew's innocent eyes. A stranger… that was on top of him, violating him in the most uncomfortably comfortable manner. A stranger… that was staring at him with beseeching looks and absolute need. A stranger… who, some time ago, was the only friend the blonde had.

That meant Matthew had nobody now.

Fueled by newfound anger and frustration, the Canadian started flailing and thrashing about again, though this time with much more ardent force. He could feel Gilbert cringe a few times from impact, as did he naturally.

"Gilbert, really, this isn't funny!"

"I'm not trying to be funny, dammit! I'm trying to… to…"

_Ding-dong!_

Jumping out of sheer surprise, the Canadian stumbled out of his awkward position under Gilbert and smiled sheepishly, gesticulating towards the direction of the door. Gilbert, frowning slightly, just shrugged and waved a passive hand to indicate his (half-hearted) approval, then grudgingly stomped back into the kitchen with an air of frustration.

Matthew subconsciously rolled his eyes and returned his attention promptly to the door, standing on his toes to look out of the peephole. He yelped (in, again, surprise) at the person on the other side: messy blonde locks, piercing green eyes, bushy eyebrows-his brother, the infamous Arthur.

Matthew clutched at the doorknob, having a mental war with himself whether or not to open it; and, out of his plain step-brotherly niceness, he did end up opening the door. Then, e immediately started glaring at his younger brother, who just stared back nonchalantly with an arm full of tempting cookies… that Matthew chose to ignore despite his sudden craving for chocolaty sweets.

"Arthur," the Canadian breathed out slowly, cringing when he heard a clatter of metal from behind him (Gilbert's so clumsy, he thought). "What are you doing here, eh? You do realize I won't be too accepting for apologies after the whole fiasco from yesterday. No, no, it's too early for anything like that. I was very angry, you know, Arthur, and it'll take quite a while for a wound like that to heal. Also, you can't tempt me with cookies. You know as much as I do that I'm diab—"

Somehow, Arthur was able to place a silencing finger on his older brother's lips whilst both smirking ominously and still holding onto those delicious bunches of cookies. "Belt up. You talk too much." After snickering ominously to his older brother's flustered stuttering thereafter, Arthur continued suavely, "No, this little bag of confectionary delights are not for the likes of you. They are for a certain special blonde—and that is blonde with an _e_—whom just so happens to have lured me in with a demeanor that rivals that of an angel's. The name of such starts with an 'A'. Mhmm, how ironic, is it not? I wonder who that might be…?"

Typical Arthur, always knowing what to say in the snarkiest, narcissistic, hypocritical, and most gentlemanly manner possible.

The Canadian let out a low groan and was pushed aside forcefully by his younger brother, who entered the room with his chin high and his posture perfect. Rolling his eyes, Matthew clamped a hand on Arthur's shoulder and said gravely, "You weren't invited inside. You can't just walk into any old house without being invited in first, lest the house of the guys you've mocked for years."

"Don't touch me with your filthy hands," Arthur said in a low voice, gingerly hitting his older brother's hand off of his shoulder. When there was finally a lack of contact between the two step-brothers, Arthur smirked in content and sat himself nicely on the couch, crossing a leg over the other. "Ah, so this is your albino pariah's house, is it not? Have you guys been doing anything _interesting_, per se?"

Matthew's face lit up with a luminous scarlet. "What the hell, Arthur? For the last time, I don't even _like_ guys! You know very well that I like Emma."

"Uncanny is the fact that Emma is related to two flaming homosexuals." Arthur placed his legs side by side to each other and straightened his posture, taking a short glance around the foreign household. "I can deduce that, from even such mere facts, your little 'I-adore-Emma' proclamations are only but a façade to induce a jealous emotion within your albino pariah. While it is intelligent and is working successfully, I admit that even I think it's harsh to keep on with this little act."

Matthew snorted. "It's not an act, Arthur. I really do _like_ her. Really, what in the world makes you so certain that I even have feelings for _Gilbert_, of all people? First off, he's a guy, and like I've said, I'm not gay. Secondly, Gilbert isn't my type. I prefer calm, collected, cute _girls_."

"Elementary, my dear Wilmot." Arthur smirked again for what seemed like the umpteenth time in a matter of only a few minutes, and Matthew looked on in horror. _How did Arthur know Gilbert's nickname for him_? "Everyone knows that Emma is most definitely not a 'calm, collected, and cute'. Rather, she is a promiscuous kind of girl who only wants to fulfill her lust."

"Liar!"

"Au contraire, it's oh so true. You could even ask her. She'll admit her sins."

Matthew narrowed his eyes. He could already feel his eyes start to sting. They may say that "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me," but dammit, whoever came up with that is full of bullshit. Words hurt, probably even more than a knife. "Arthur," Matthew said, trying to peer into Arthur's soul. Guilt tricks always worked, especially the stare down, from what the Canadian had learned over the years. "Why are you being such a dick?"

Arthur mirrored every single one of the Canadian's actions down to the very smallest of details. "Matthew, why do you like sucking on dick?"

_Ouch_.

"Okay, you're still impossible," Matthew said harshly, slapping his forehead with the back of his hand. He could feel his stinging eyes grow more painful, and it felt like he was about to break down and show weakness once again. Stupid tears. "You didn't answer my first question."

"And that was…?"

Matthew sighed. "What _are_ you doing here?"

"Oh, of course." Arthur stood up and gently patted down his clothing as if they were dirtied. Then, he promptly looked at his older brother and flashed his winning smile. Matthew couldn't help but roll his eyes again; this whole jerky gentleman thing was getting out of hand as well as a little bit cliché. "I'm here to retrieve you from your little overnight rendezvous with your albino pariah so we may walk to school together."

"What, so you can _mock_ me even further?" challenged the older blonde angrily, harshly.

Arthur stared blankly, and then bellowed out with humored laughter. "Oh no. Mum and dad are worried about you. They told me you spend too much time with Gilbert, especially at night. And considering we're at that age, well…"

Matthew felt his fuse about to explode. Everyone called him the patient kind of person who was able to stand any kind of blow. But, when you have to live with someone as infuriating as Arthur, who mocked you constantly day in and day out, you lose that precious patience and instead inherit a hot head from all the frustration you're put through. And that's exactly why the infamous "placid" Matthew, rubicund from bottled up anger, walked up to his younger brother and grabbed his collar without hesitation. Arthur just looked on, a nonchalant expression on his face. There was a glint of triumph in his evil green eyes.

"Goddammit, Arthur!" Matthew yelled; the volume of his voice seemed so unnatural to him, yet it made him feel so free. "For the last time, I'm not gay. In fact, let me tell you this: I hate Gilbert. I _fucking_ hate Gilbert! How can I love someone whom I hate, eh? Eh? Answer me that, you… you…"

"Matthew, calm down…" Matthew didn't know what to say. That wasn't Arthur's voice. That was so totally _not_ Arthur's voice.

The Canadian turned around and met eyes with sad orbs of red. He felt a pang of regret then and there, and he let go of his hold on Arthur's shirt. "Gilbert… I…"

"It's fine. I don't care," said Gilbert plainly, waving a hand. "Could you leave now, though? I still have to get ready and everything, and it's sort of a burden with both of you guys here."

"But Gil—"

Arthur piped in, "of course. We'll be taking our leave now. Excuse us." He grabbed Matthew's arm before the Canadian could finish his sentence and ran away from the house as quickly as he could with his older brother intact, his face expressing nothing. The Canadian's, in contrast, was surprised and hurt and every other negative emotion out there. It seemed like he was about to explode again, and for a moment Arthur pitied his older brother.

The two didn't even dare look each other as they started walking towards the direction of the school. Neither said a word, just stared off into opposite directions. It was for the best, anyway; Matthew felt so messed up with everything that had happened in one morning. It seemed like destiny was repaying him for rejecting his best friend. He didn't know what was wrong with that; shouldn't they be happy that he wasn't sinning, unlike Gilbert?

Walking to school was long and painful and quiet. In a manner of what seemed like mere hours, they were in the front of the school, which was already packed with students. It was only a miracle they weren't late.

Arthur looked at the other blonde amusedly. "Well, I'll have to depart now. I wouldn't want to be seen with the likes of you."

Matthew glared but shrugged it off. He didn't even have any more energy for any of this anymore. He didn't have energy for _bullshit_ anymore.

He walked into the school in all his loneliness. It seemed like he was in the spotlight, yet no one paid any mind to him. Who would, anyway, to someone like him? After all, like his brother said, he wasn't anybody special. No one would like to be seen with the likes of him.

He sighed and slowly made his way to his locker. It was only a few hallways to the right, so it didn't take long before he was there. When he opened it, he heard an all-too-familiar voice behind me, and he stopped and turned around.

It was Gilbert.

He wasn't sure if he was happy or fearful. He supposed he rode his bike to school with his brother to school (Matthew did remember seeing a familiar bike in the rack on his way here) but just took a different route. No surprise there…

When he saw his ex-best friend walk closer to him, he started to panic. What should he do? What should he say? Matthew braced himself; he would be courageous and proud and just be honest about everything. He just had to apologize, and—

A low, strained hum of expletives crept out of his mouth as he stared at the albino pariah gently wrap a strong arm around… around…

He gritted his teeth, growling angrily. Gilbert's arm was around the effeminate waist of one stuffy, aristocratic, totally-not-flamboyant Roderich. Roderich Edelstein, of all people! Common knowledge in George Stephenson High School was the fact that the aristocratic Austrian was indeed pragmatic to any kind of sentiments that may befall him. He had won the hearts of many through his elegance and poise, yet all he ever yearned for was to play the piano all day long, not get into an intimate relationship. Especially not with someone as contrasting as Gilbert.

Then why, oh why, did said stuffy Austrian aristocrat—whom of which, as aforementioned, was not much for childishness such as public displays of affection-reciprocate girlishly at Gilbert's arm around him, making them look like the perfectly disgusting puppy dog couple stereotype in movies? Roderich looked too happy, his ruddy face squirming with unwanted ecstasies, and the self-proclaimed Prussian bastard just stilled, tightened his grip, and smirked. The albino was slowly but surely snaking his fingers across the Austrian's back. Roderich just moaned out, the very salacious sounds making the Canadian want to throw up. It was basically uncensored gay sex, the way Gilbert was groping him and the way Roderich was panting like the dog he truly was.

Gilbert… that little fuck… all he wanted to do was get into Roderich's pompous purple trousers, Matthew knew!

The angry Canadian continued to grind his teeth together, his eyebrows furrowed a little too deeply. Beside him, his little a new presence just smirked all too-knowingly, nodding his head in feigned disappointment.

"Glad to see you know my pain. Being cheated on right in front of you is tough." Arthur smiled and gesticulated towards the annoyingly cute couple. "They're bastards. All of them."

Matthew drew in a sharp breathe, staring at the bushy-browed Briton incredulously. "What are you talking about? I just…"

"Just…?"

"Gilbert… he's changed," Matthew tried to reason whilst he stuffed his hands into his jean pockets. "I don't know how, but he's changed, and it's a bad change. He's really been getting on my nerves. Even though we've been best friends since forever, it seems like he's betrayed me."

"Trust me, everyone is like this. It seems like you can give them your life at first, but then you learn their secret intentions… how they're just using you for their own benefits. You can't trust anyone in this filthy world anymore." Arthur stared on disapprovingly. "That includes your little boy-toy, no matter how close you claim to be with him. Prior to this dilemma, anyway."

"For the last time, he's not my boy-toy!" the Canadian whispered angrily, discreetly watching his self-proclaimed Prussian friend stare at him awkwardly with one eyebrow raised. Matthew chose to ignore this and instead closed the gap between him and his brother, talking in the lowest and softest voice he could manage. "Why are you even talking to me, eh, Arthur? I thought you didn't want to associate with the likes of me."

"I don't. I have my reasons, though. Like I said, people only forge relationships in order to gain something from them."

"So, you're going to act nice to me just so you can… get something from me?"

"You're not as intellectually challenged as everyone thinks you are."

Matthew scrunched up his nose in confusion, ignoring the snarky jab from the younger; he was used to it by now, or should be, at least. "Why would you tell me that in the first place? Wouldn't that just make it so I won't give you whatever the hell you want?"

"Oh, that's not necessary, but I'm flattered by your courteous manners," Arthur drawled out in an almost-seductive manner. Matthew shivered slightly, mentally stabbing himself with imaginary knives for even thinking his brother was being sexy (albeit step-brother, but nonetheless…). He figured his rather… weird… thoughts were just a sporadic stage to the fruit of adulthood, but they still made him scared about himself. Arthur wiggled his huge eyebrows suggestively and continued huskily, "alas, I am not in need of your services, particularly. What I want is something you have, per se, but I'd like to believe it has a mind of its own. And that, of course, will let me be able to manipulate and bend it to my liking."

Matthew's eyes widened. "Are you talking about… about a person?"

"Bingo."

"So… so… Kiku, right?" Matthew asked, making the most logical guess he could. Out of the corner of his eye, he could still see Gilbert practically sexing it up with Roderich. A teacher passed by without a care. Goddammit. "It seems like you like island people, and since he's from Japan and all, it only makes sense. I have no other friends anymore, anyway."

"Uhh, sure…" Arthur laughed. "I'm in the same boat, don't worry."

"But you're the most popular boy in school…?"

Arthur stared at his younger brother incredulously. "I am?"

"Well, yeah. I mean… yeah." Did he not know? Matthew thought almost bemusedly.

"Oh. Well, I hate people, so I really don't care." Arthur snarled. "I'd rather be alone than with a bunch of liars. They'll leave you eventually. They always do."

Matthew nodded, half-listening. _Ugh, Roderich needs to take his hand away from Gil's ass. So… disgusting!_

Another voice in his head was saying, _Hey, your eyes are turning green, bright one._

➊ ➃ ➌

Alfred put on a somber mask and tapped his chin thoughtfully with a pen, clearing his throat. His voice was low and sounded like a mock-businessman. "Excuse me, miss, my name is Alfred F. Jones and I'm here to investigate some very important matters." He put down the tip of the pen on his notebook, getting ready to scribble. "May I inquire your phone number?"

"I'm a guy, douchebag," the long-haired teenager deadpanned, flipping the blonde off without so much as a second's hesitance.

A gaping Alfred just stood there, completely dumbfounded, and smacked his forehead multiple times. He's been trying to ask various girls (and, most unfortunately, boys on accident) their phone numbers the entire day, and thus far he only received snob looks, snarky retorts, or eerily evil looks (he still shivered from the memory of one Belarusian girl trying to murder him, literally). In short, he was an epic failure, and he was never going to find out who exactly this "937" character is.

Despondently, the American boy walked down the hallways in shame, passing by people who were looking at him weirdly. He felt like such a loser. He never felt like this before!

Huh, now he knew how nerds felt…

With a sigh that unconsciously escaped his lips, Alfred continued to mope around. That was, until, he noticed his weird Canadian friend by the wall of lockers, to which the American reacted by perking up. Matthew was talking to someone. That someone made Alfred's heart drop: _Arthur_.

He suddenly felt his feet turn the other direction, and he didn't know why. He wanted to go up and talk to Matthew… and maybe even Arthur… but at the same time, he didn't want to meet Arthur's piercing green gaze. It scared him shitless, and he was not about to make a fool of himself again in front of that fancy-schmancy Briton. He was already ridiculed enough by said Englishman, thank you very much.

He kept on walking. He was in such deep thought about Arthur all the time, and it was confusing to him. What would he do thinking about someone who hated him all the time? He shouldn't waste his time on Arthur; no, that was only asking for trouble. Arthur himself was trouble.

Alfred sighed. Yeah, he really needed to stop thinking so deeply. It hurt his head.

He looked down at his feet as he turned the corner. But then, he felt something against his head—something soft and luscious and bulbous—and he felt himself being pushed backwards. He looked up from where he was staring and started blushing immediately. It was… it was a _girl_.

A mighty fine _girl_.

"Oh, excuse me," she said in her pretty accent. Alfred wasn't sure what it was, but he knew that it was pretty sexy and foreign, to say the least. He couldn't help but smile idiotically.

"N-no problem!" He grinned, nodding his head. "Hey, I'm Alfred. What's your name?"

"Alfred, you say?" She began to giggle, and Alfred looked at her weirdly. Did he say something weird? Did he smell funny? Did Alfred have some humorous meaning behind it that he knew nothing about. (Note to self, he thought, look up what my name means.) "Ah, I've heard of you!"

Ah, so he was… popular, he guessed? He grinned, a little too arrogantly. "Oh, really?" he asked excitedly.

"Yeah." The hot girl beamed, her cheeks flushed with pink. "By the way, my name's Lizzy." She winked at Alfred salaciously, and he felt all the blood in his body start to heat up. Damn damn damn!

She giggled into the palms of her hands again and gently patted Alfred's head. "You're a cute kid. I'm glad my friend likes you."

Alfred quirked an eyebrow in confusion. "Your friend?"

"Yeah. So smitten. It's like all that ever escapes that bastard's lips are, 'Alfred's cute' and 'Alfred's so weird'. I've never seen such a love-struck expression before." She was squealing like any kind of happy girl would do. Alfred, trying to block out the annoying sounds, sighed happily. Someone liked him, and he was pretty popular apparently. Why in the world did he never know about this?

After a while of prolonged squealing, Lizzy stopped and winked at Alfred again. He felt like he was going to explode from her prettiness and her curvaceous body and her boobs. "Well," she said. "I have to go now. I'll see you later, okay, Alfred?"

In a daze, Alfred just nodded. And then, when she started to leave, he suddenly snapped himself out of his reverie and frantically called out, "Wait! Lizzy, wait!"

She turned around and looked at him questioningly. Alfred just ran up to her as fast as he could and pulled out his notebook, putting on that somber face mask again. "May I inquire your phone number, Miss Lizzy?"

"Aha, of course." Alfred grinned. First success of the day!

Lizzy slowly stated each and every number, and Alfred wrote it down accordingly, making sure he got it right ("Two-two-five?" "No, two-two-nine."). He looked somewhat saddened that it wasn't the number "937" used, but he did think that Lizzy could be a likely suspect.

"Thanks, dudette."

She giggled. "No problem. But," she suddenly said, looking down at the short blonde. "Do you ask everyone their numbers?"

"Oh no," Alfred said, his eyes widening. "Only girls."

"…why?"

"It's kinda complicated, but there's this girl who texted me, and I'm trying to find out who she is. I know she goes to this school; I just know it!" Alfred had a dreamy look in his eyes, something that screamed of hope and mirth. It was so refreshing in the girl's eyes that she felt a little pang of jealousy inside herself. _Best not lose yourself to a cutie, Liz_, she thought to herself, bouncing up and down nonchalantly.

"Oh, really? I might be able to help you with that. I know almost everyone's phone number at this school."

Alfred's blue eyes brightened. "Seriously? You're not shitting me?"

"I'm not _shitting_ you," Lizzy reiterated for confirmation, flinging out her phone. "So what is it?"

Alfred happily recited the phone number by heart. The pattern of the numbers seemed to be engraved in his head after looking at the texts so much; honestly, he really didn't even have to think about it. The numbers just escaped his lips naturally.

Lizzy nodded and started scrolling down her contacts list. It didn't take long before she yelled out in epiphany, her wide grin looking too big to fit on her face. She flashed the phone in front of Alfred, who greedily took it into his hands and looked at it.

But then his jaw dropped and he felt his knees weakening and his eyes twitching. "Arthur? _Arthur Kirkland…_?"

➊ ➃ ➌

Alfred was unnaturally quiet during lunch. His friends didn't notice; of course they wouldn't considering they were actually sitting at a full table now, filled with strangers Alfred didn't know. No one bothered to strike a conversation with him, and he couldn't care less. All he could think about was, as much as he didn't admit it, _Arthur_.

He kept asking himself, why the hell would someone like Arthur—who obviously hated him—start texting him? Why would Arthur say that he loved Alfred?

How the hell did Arthur get Alfred's phone number in the first place?

All these questions were acid to Alfred's brain. He needed to take a breather. He needed to think somewhere else, somewhere less crowded and less noisy. He felt too claustrophobic smashed in-between a burly blonde bodybuilder and an intimidating tall blonde who always seemed to look angry.

He shivered, slipping away in the most discreet manner possible. No one seemed to notice him at all. Good.

Alfred escaped the noisiness that was the cafeteria and peered into the vacant hallways, looking around in search of an empty classroom he could chill in for the remainder of lunch (which, he thought, was roughly around twenty more minutes, according to the clock on his right). However, class after class, he found that most were either occupied by a class or was locked.

And then, he found that one miraculous door that was both unlocked and unoccupied. He stared at the clock—a different one this time—and he realized he had fifteen minutes left. Great, fifteen minutes to think.

Nonchalantly, the bubbly American boy walked into a seemingly empty classroom quietly. He breathed in and walked around, trying to locate a good spot to sit and muse for a while. However, a quiet and almost inaudible noise made him turn around frantically, his eyes darting in every single direction possible in search of the sounds. It was still empty... seemingly... but the sounds persisted; and, being the stubborn American he was, he was determined to find out what exactly was making that noise.

With basic detective skills force-learned from reading Hound of the Baskervilles in seventh grade, Alfred proceeded to his hunt, searching for any possible clues around the classroom to help with his investigation. There was really nothing too odd around the classroom, except for the teacher's desk. The plaque wasn't placed properly, and it wouldn't have bothered him if it wasn't for the fact that he knew this kind of teacher was OCD.

Thank you, weird blonde gossiper in his history class!

Alfred softly tapped on the wooden desk and walked around the perimeter of it. Then, he went down on his knees and started looking around the desk. He find a lonely ear bud sticking out from under the desk. Curiously, he grabbed at it and put it in his own ear, surprised to know that he actually knew this song.

"_I was down at the New Amsterdam, staring at this yellow-haired girl. Mr. Jones strikes up a conversation with a black-haired flamenco dancer. You know, she dances while his father plays guitar. She's suddenly beautiful; we all want something beautiful. Man, I wish I was beautiful, so come dance this silence down through the morning."_

Damn, he thought, I love this song. He smiled while listening to it, the lyrics meaning nothing but the beat somehow soothing him. Then, he felt the ear bud being yanked out of his ear, and he curiously crawled around the desk again on all fours. He saw someone cowering under the teacher's desk with a bag of uneaten cookies in the corner.

It didn't take him long to realize that that someone cowering under the desk was _Arthur_, and Alfred let out a subconscious gasp. Alfred was already determined to avoid the nasty Briton at any cost, but especially after that learning that "937" was most definitely Arthur—no doubt about it—Alfred couldn't help but feel a little bit happy and repulsed simultaneously. It didn't make sense, and he didn't want to suffer through what Matthew suffered through (with awkward gays liking you and all), and he just wanted to be alone and think through it.

So, he turned around and decided to leave, hoping that Arthur was asleep or something so he wouldn't realize that Alfred was here all along. But, a forceful tug on his leg brought him crashing back down on the ground, and he found himself face to face with those piercing green eyes again. Except, they weren't glaring at him. They were… _smiling_ at him?

_Fuck_, Alfred thought to himself. This only enforced the validity that "937" was England! Fuck fuck fuck!

Alfred started stuttering, and Arthur just laughed, patting the American's tousled hair gingerly. It was so sickening yet so comforting at the same time.

"What are you doing here, wanker?" Despite the horrible name, the tone was placid. Alfred screwed up his face in confusion. What the fuck was going on? First Arthur hated him, and now he was being all nice? Maybe a little too nice…

That's it! It was all just a trap!

The shorter blonde smiled sheepishly, trying to get rid of the Briton's strong grip on Alfred's leg. "I… uh… just trying to… _I don't know_… y'know… get away from people…"

"Tell me about it." Arthur suddenly offered the American a chocolate chip cookie, but Alfred decided to reject the offer. It might've been poisoned after all; he was still suspicious with the all-too-nice and creepily weird Arthur.

"Uhh, haha, yeah," Alfred said, tentatively scratching the back of his head. How awkward everything was. "I have to go now."

"Wait." The voice was demanding and authoritative. Alfred couldn't help but stay put, but he regretted his decision when he felt his body being jerked towards the Briton. Suddenly, they were both under the teacher's desk with those tempting cookies in the corner. Except, unfortunately, the teacher's desk wasn't that big, so Alfred was practically having to sit in the smiling Briton's lap to make room for the both of them. He found heat gathering in his cheeks from the closeness of their bodies. Arthur's breaths were even hitting against Alfred's cheeks, making them glow with an even darker shade.

"Stay here and humor me, git."

"W… why me?" asked Alfred. Arthur shrugged and shifted in his position, making it so Alfred was now facing the other blonde's face head on. There was no looking away now, and those same green eyes that intimidated him were now looking longingly at him.

Alfred thought, shuffling in Arthur's lap uncomfortably, _This is some fucked-up shit…_

"Because I'm bored."

"You're always bored," Alfred found himself saying, having heard Matthew tell the American that whenever Alfred himself claimed he was bored. The Canadian's quirks sure were contagious sometimes.

Arthur just snorted in response. "You sound like my brother."

"Why do you hate him?" Alfred asked all of sudden, changing the laidback mood to something more serious, which he found wasn't like him at all. Then again, he didn't usually sit in the laps of his worst enemies. "Why are you suddenly being nice to me?"

Arthur shrugged and shifted in his position again. Alfred could feel something rub against his crotch, and he started moaning. But then, when he realized what he was doing, he stopped himself and glared at the Briton. "Fuck, dude, this is so freakin' gay."

"Not exactly. I could think of much more things that could be deemed of as gay."

"Please, dude," Alfred groaned in misery. "No more. Can't I just go?"

Arthur didn't respond. Instead, he started softly humming the tune of the song Alfred had listened to just a few minutes ago. Alfred quirked an eyebrow; Arthur sure was a weird guy. He was so confusing and gay and everything that made Alfred's head hurt. And he was also "937"…

Alfred sighed and snatched an ear bud from one of the Briton's ear. Arthur didn't seem to mind, and they both started singing quietly to the song, in not so-perfect tune but in absolutely perfect timing.

"_Mr. Jones and me tell each other fairy tales, and we stare at the beautiful woman. 'She's looking at you. Oh, no no, she's looking at me.' Smiling in the bright lights coming through in stereo. When everybody loves you, you can never be lonely…"_

_

* * *

_

**I haven't updated in a month. o.o I am kinda losing interest in Hetalia, but I'm still determined to finish this regardless, so no worries. Also, I'm going to speed up the pace of the story, because I too think that it is really slow compared to other fics I've read. :)**

**And yeah, I know there are things that are still confusing, but trust me, they'll all be answered soon enough. Arthur's strange and contradictory behavior will be, too. ;)**

_**Time for some special recognition!**_

✖ **Thank you to **dredsina **for the picture of Alfred in his Halloween costume (**http:/dredsina .deviantart .com/gallery/? catpath= scraps#/d31xp8v**)! This is my first time receiving fanart, and I was really giddy about it, so thank you so much. Please go and look at her art! Her gallery is amazing! :)**

✖ **Thank you to my amazing beta reader, **MataHari-Chan**, for taking the time to check over the chapters of "143" and not only correcting me grammar-wise, but making sure I have my facts straight and it's consistent. You're awesome! :3**

✖ **And, of course, congratulations to **TheEvilMuffinToaster** for being the first to tell me what the significance of "937" is! So, you get to choose which pairings will be present in the upcoming holiday special (it'll be either winter holidays or Valentine's depending on how busy I am). You can choose whatever pairings you want, so be creative. ;) Also, thanks to everyone else who guessed! I'd like to say that most, if not all, of your guesses were correct, so congrats! Virtual scones to everyone!**

**Anyway, now that it's kind of close to 143 reviews, I'll finally hold that contest I was talking about a couple of chapters back or something. **The person to get the 143rd review will get two one-shots written by me as well as a sneak peek to a future chapter. I might also throw in a few other things along the way, but that's only when I actually think of some other prize. I mean, I guess I could draw something, but it'll end up being on Paint and really sketchy and crappy. XD


	6. IDGAF

**Ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡ ➅  
**ⒾⒹⒼⒶⒻ

**Mi amigo, why did you break up with your cute little gf? Everyone thought you two were SOOOOO CUTE together! What a shame! :,(**

_She broke up with me._

**Do you know why? :,(**

_Not at all. I don't care, though_.

**You sure? Do you want to talk about it? :S**

_No._

**It might help you if you talk about it… :V**

_Again, no_.

**Ok, ok! Geebus.. but w/e. Btw, Franny says "bonjour." :P**

_And Arthur says "fuck off"._

**Ouch, harsh! You talk just like mi Lovi :,D**

_Get a room._

**Whaat? I already have one? :S**

…_Nevermind._

➊ ➃ ➌

**SPIIILLLLLL! SAMMY IS UBER DEPRESED N I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THE F HAPPENED?**

_She broke up with me, end of story, Elizabeta. That's all I know, so don't bother asking me what her motives were._

**Ill find out soon dun worry! sammy tells me everything :))) ill prolly find out in a few days. i AM the gossip mastermind at GSHS**

_Lovely_.

**Soooooooooooo…..**

_So what?_

**Idk xD how are things?**

_Horrid._

**Aww cmon! Lighten up! actualy, lemme refrase my ques: how are things with al?**

_What do you mean?_

**ALFIE-KINS! THE CUTE NEW AMERICAN BOY!**

_You know as much as everyone else that I absolutely loathe him._

**But y? u 2 would be so kewt :( plus all you do is talk about him day in and day out. Its so flaming obvious u loooooooove him :P**

_I do not harbor any feelings for the git whatsoever, nor does he. Our feeling of hatred is mutual and should remain that way._

**ewww stop sounding so smarticles, you ap nerd! xP anyway u cant hate him 4ever. u SHOULDN'T hate him just b/c of wut happened wit ur mum :/ its not fair for al**

_Just watch me_.

➊ ➃ ➌

**hey… can I borrow ur geo hw for 2day? Plz?**

_Go right ahead. No charge._

**Thx Arthur. Ur actually kinda nice sometimes**

_Trust me, this isn't permanent, Matthew._

➊ ➃ ➌

_Tap tap…_ The bushy-browed Briton hastily moved his fingers across the touch pad on his phone in lightning speed, the precision in his thumb typing skills astonishing. He always did find that he texted a lot faster and vigorously and more correctly when fervent emotions, especially in the case of anger, were bubbling inside him in a faux-adrenaline rush. Right now, he was _fucking pissed_—If you could please excuse his ungentlemanly words—which helped his speed multiply tenfold. Such unmanageable petulance, however, did not help anything else in his life. Then again, when did any kind of emotion ever help anyone in life, lest of all him?

He gritted his teeth, a flood of memories overflowing in his mind. Emotions were the biggest obstacle in life and should be demolished, or so his philosophy on sentiments went. They only caused pain, pain, and even more pain; he should know, being the subject of this perpetual pain since the day he was born—since the day he was born through disgusting spontaneous emotions and mistakes a la his dear mother…

Shakily, he pursed his lips and nodded his head in shame. Better not talk about the past. His apparent obvious symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder may resurface again, just like how his loony psychiatrist warned him. He never really did listen to his psychiatrist's constant prattle about the mysteries and pains and "hopes" of life, though. Psychology, he thought, was all just a hoax, and he thought that every person thought differently and acted differently because everyone was human, and the human mind is a complex realm of free thought that is able to branch out into a plethora of various ideas, whether weird or unnatural or completely ludicrous. With him, he was always thinking—about everything, as a matter of fact. He would think about why everything around him is a constant shade of beautiful blue, akin to that blasted blonde bloke's eyes.

Not that Arthur cared much. Just that the comparison was the only one he could think of right now. Arthur scarcely thought of Al-Alfr… the American git, after all. The bloke was stupid, insignificant, unsightly, obnoxious, and every other negative adjective that floated around in Arthur's head, ready to be unleashed in a moment's notice.

Right now, however, it was hard for him to insult anything and anyone, and he's confused as to why. Why exactly can't he insult anyone anymore? Why exactly was he being nice to that aforementioned American? That moment in the classroom was an accident, he tried to convince himself—a moment of those disturbing emotions overcoming the human mind, puppeteering it to do the unthinkable. He wasn't _supposed_ to be nice to the likes of Alfred. Yet, he let the blonde bloke sit in his lap and listen to his favorite song by Counting Crows whilst offering him a bag of cookies… all under the teacher's desk. Crazy, he realized, but that was exactly what happened, and he regretted it oh so-much.

What was worse was the fact that he wasn't sure _why_ it all happened.

He wanted to talk to someone about it—besides his psychiatrist, that was—but he was too stubborn and prideful to ask just anyone, and his small circle of "best friends" were bumbling idiots for the majority of the time. Antonio was too oblivious and optimistic about everything, so much so that he exploded candied sprinkles and rainbows and everything else gay and good. Elizabeta was convinced that Arthur's ex-romantic feelings were misplaced within Samira and should be with someone else, the latter he refused to mention under the pretense that it could be a tiny bit true. And Francis…

Oh wait, they weren't friends anymore. Were they ever friends in the first place, anyway? Arthur liked to think they were, actually, and that they were the very best of frenemies back in the good old days, but nowadays, they were just plain enemies. The reasoning was obvious, and that all went back to emotions—love, betrayal, sadness, anger…

Arthur stopped moving his thumbs for a moment and furrowed his bushy eyebrows together, heaving out the longest and deepest sigh ever. It wasn't fair. Emotions were such traitors in life.

_Just like A_—

He mentally slapped himself out of his own reverie and tossed his phone onto the side of his bed, getting up from his sitting position. He quickly grabbed a jacket—his favorite one, the one with the checkered print—and put it on swiftly, running outside into the autumn cold. The gentle zephyrs tickled his face and laughed, but the frown plastered on Arthur's face repelled them away like stinky cheese surrounded by mice. He yearned for a silent place to think without the annoyances of humanity, unlike his failed mission yesterday. Who would've known that the American liked to hide under the teacher's desk during lunch hours, too? Of course, he was probably attracted by Arthur's amazing cooking skills.

Arthur snorted amusedly, and for once in a long time, he felt a small smile on his lips. It wasn't a smirk, oh no, but a genuine little grin, though unfortunately it lasted for only a brief second before it reverted back to its original state. It felt refreshing and foreign, all at the same time, to smile like this. He hadn't since he was a child, and currently, he was only smiling because of his unwanted thoughts of that blasted American boy.

Ugh. He really needed to stop thinking about him. What was it about that American boy that was so special, anyway? Arthur pondered on it. He knew that, even though the American does get ridiculed often, he was still very secretly popular amongst the population of George Stephenson High School, and everyone wanted to be his friend. The only thing that held the blonde back was Matthew, who was as infamous and nerdy as one could get. The blonde git was seemingly so popular that he could overthrow Arthur's status in a split second, though surprisingly, Arthur didn't really mind. His title of "Mr. Popular" could go die in a ditch for all he cared. What did the title of popularity matter when in a few years, it would all be for naught as no one really gave a fuck anyway?

Arthur walked into the city park and sat down on the wooden bench, gazing at the beauty of nature. The pleasantries of the serene atmosphere and the quietness was more than enough to satisfy Arthur. He truly felt at peace at a place like this, but likewise, he knew something like this wouldn't last for long before someone just had to interrupt. So, he indulged himself in the scenery, soaking up every precious second, paranoid that anything would come by and ruin everything. For a few minutes, no such thing happened, which made him even more suspicious. Thirty minutes had passed then, and still, nothing.

And then, all of a sudden, out of the blue, he heard a whimper. But it wasn't from a foreigner. It was a whimper that escaped from the depths of his own mouth. Soon after the recognition of his own actions was eminent, he started hearing more whimpers escape his mouth until it started evolving into short sobs, fresh tears trickling down the sides of his cheeks. He was tired of it all… He was utterly tired of all the pain bottled up inside his heart; he was tired of all the people that have lied and manipulated him for their own satisfaction; he was tired of everything and everyone in this world! All he wanted was to just be all alone, once and for all, and to be in eternal peace. No one would be able to hurt him then. _Absolutely no one_.

Except, he knew he would hurt others if he did anything too drastic, so all he could do right now, as powerless and defenseless he is now, was bawl and cry and sob to his heart's content. And so he did, and he remained in that vulnerable demeanor for the entire rest of the evening, the chirps of the birds suddenly melancholy and empathetic and the trees swaying in a soothing dance and caressing his body in a motherly way.

At least someone cared. At least someone cared about—

"Arthur?"

The interruption made Arthur jump, causing a distinct roar of laughter to escape the mysterious person's lips. Hastily, embarrassingly, Arthur rubbed the flood of tears staining his face and tried to hide the reds of his cheeks by putting his arm over his mouth, his blurred eyes staring at the silhouette in front of him. It was a boy in an enormous, thick winter coat, blonde tufts springing out from under his blue beanie. He was looking at Arthur with the most empathetic blue eyes ever. "You 'kay, dude?"

Arthur blinked the tears away as he tried to control the rising temperature in his cheeks. (At least it helped keep his face warm from the cold air.) "_Alfred_?" he asked aghast, staring steadily at how the bumbling idiot tripped his way towards Arthur whilst removing the scarf from around his neck. He shoved it in the Briton's lap and sat beside him, sighing in content.

"Hey, that's the first time you've ever said my name," Alfred mused happily. "Isn't it nice outside? Not like Texas at all, the weather always changing and all."

"What are you doing here, you git?" Arthur asked softly, harshly. He stared down at his lap, poking the scarf as if it was a disgustingly hideous alien creature who looked like it was about to implode. Alfred chuckled softly at the Briton's unusual actions towards the object and took it from his lap, wrapping it around Arthur's neck. Though Arthur tried to protest, Alfred didn't listen and just kept wrapping until Arthur looked warm. And, from the looks of his dangerously red cheeks, he was beyond warm by then. "Wha…"

"It's kinda cold outside, and you're only wearing that flimsy little thing." Alfred gesticulated towards the Arthur's checkered coat. "So I figured you'd appreciate being a little bit warmer. But I dunno much about you Englanders, so I wouldn't know."

"Englishmen," Arthur corrected, mouth open in offense, adjusting the scarf so it would cover his face. "You never answered my question, you wanker."

The American boy gave out a loud sigh and fell back into the bench, kicking his feet into the air in quick, sweeping motions. "Well, _excuse me_. I was actually about to get to that until a certain _Englishman_"—Arthur rolled his eyes—"interrupted me. But anyway," Alfred said, smiling like a dork. "I'm here 'cause I decided to walk around this place 'cause I still get lost while trying to find a McDonalds here, but then I heard someone crying so I decided to check it out." The blonde eyed Arthur. "You know, you never answered my question either."

"What question?"

"Are you okay?" Alfred reiterated compassionately, his blue eyes burning holes of uncomfortable comfort into Arthur's own eyes. The Briton looked away in embarrassment and started kicking the dying grasses underneath him, flustered beyond belief.

"Yes… I _am_ okay," Arthur tried to convince the American as well as himself, but for both parties, it didn't work, and Arthur felt like he was about to explode into another crying session once again. But before something like that could happen, Alfred started patting the Briton on the shoulder—a nice, comforting gesture—and offered an "I'm sorry, dude" kind of smile.

"You're not okay, _at all_," deduced Alfred, nodding his head triumphantly. "People don't cry when they're okay."

"Gee, you think?" The Briton's voice was dripping with harsh sarcasm, but it seemed like it passed through the American's dense noggin like a fork piercing gelatin.

"Yeah, duh. So, tell me what's wrong," Alfred urged, tugging at Arthur's checkered coat. "_Please_?"

"And what reason do I have to tell someone like you… _things_ about _my_ life?"

"Because, even though it seems like you hate me for no apparent reason whatsoever"—Alfred coughed loudly at that to give notice to the true statement—"I wanna be your friend and stuff. You seem like a cool dude when you're not glaring daggers at me and pretending to be 937." Alfred blinked, looking aside. "Y'know, just sayin'."

"Nine… three… seven…" Arthur had a dumbfounded look on his face as he slowly said the number, his breathe coming out in white puffs in the cold air. "Excuse my language, but what the fuck is a 937?"

Alfred guffawed loudly. "Don't play dumb with me, man! I know you're 937, dude. The signs are everywhere."

"I honestly have no idea what you are talking about." Arthur's face looked strained and genuine, making Alfred make a weird, confused face. "This is exactly why I hate Americans. They never make any sense."

"Hey! That's really offensive! What if I said I hated Englishmen?" Alfred stuck out his tongue.

Arthur massaged his forehead with his fingers as he peeled the scarf from his neck. "That would be a bad thing to say when you're actually inside the borders of England. Unless you want a mod with torches and pitchforks, then go right ahead. Yell it out to the world for all I care." After he said that, he rose from the bench and started walking away, only to stop dead in his tracks when he heard the soft, hurried footsteps against the muddy ground behind him.

"Wait, you sure you aren't 937? 'Cause if you're lying, dude…"

Arthur clarified gravely, "I have no idea what you are talking about—still—but whatever this 937 is, I have no association with it. Will that be all, git?"

"No, no, no! Wait! I have a few more questions," Alfred said, his eyes travelling north as an indication that he was thinking.

"Great," Arthur said in a sarcastic manner, shoving his hands into his pockets. The wind started slapping his bare skin silly, and he suddenly started craving the American's warm, toasty scarf again. "The paparazzi never leaves me alone. Typical."

"It'll be quickly," promised Alfred. "So anyway, first question: why were you being all nice to me yesterday? Y'know, when we were under the teacher's desk?"

Arthur flushed at the memory. "I… was, err… I was drunk, I suppose. I don't remember what you are talking about, anyhow…" The Briton looked away and demanded, "next question!"

"Can I still have those cookies from yesterday?" Alfred asked, smirking.

"Sure?" Arthur said wearily, his eyes widening all of a sudden at his grave epiphany. "I mean, no, no! I don't even know what you're talking about!"

"Ha, caught in the act!" The American boy childishly accused, pointing a finger at the Briton, who was flushing like mad from head to toe. Any more blushing, and he would explode right there, on the spot, and then everything else in his perimeter would be red, too. "So you do remember what happened yesterday!"

"I… yes, I do, but my actions were fueled by emotion, not thought. I'm not responsible for any of it," Arthur confessed solemnly.

"Sure, sure. And I'm totally not Texan," Alfred said, light sarcasm dotting his words. Arthur raised his eyebrows, quite impressed by the American's sarcasm, even if it wasn't as nasty and harsh as the Briton's usual sarcastic remarks.

"Sarcasm is _mine_, you little wanker." Despite the cruel comment, Arthur could feel the corners of his lips twitching with a twinge of happiness. "Not yours."

"Sucks to your sarcasm," Alfred said, sticking out his tongue once again. "Will you tell me why were you acting weird yesterday now?"

Arthur grinned. "Nope. I'll see you during lunch tomorrow, though, Mr. Jones. I might clear up some stuff then." He then walked away into the orange-purple amalgam of the sunset, and all Alfred could think of was, _Wow, Arthur smiled. Arthur actually smiled…_

And then, his bright blue eyes suddenly widened when he realized, _Wait, was… that just a date I heard?_

➊ ➃ ➌

The Prussian happily pecked his aristocratic boyfriend on the cheek and walked towards Alfred's direction. Surprisingly, the usually-talkative American boy hadn't said a peep the entire day yet, and it was already last period by now. Naturally, that provoked Gilbert's curiosity. The Prussian did notice that the expression on the American's face was akin to that of a lovesick schoolgirl's, so if anything, the albino at least knew that whatever was on Alfred's mind had something to do with romance.

"Yo, Al, 'sup?" Gilbert greeted casually, waving a hand in front of the American's face. It took a few seconds, but Alfred blinked a couple of times and finally realized that he was zoning out in the middle of the hallway as well as that his idol (well, more or less) was right in front of him, greeting him.

"Gilbo!" Alfred gushed happily, blushing slightly. "Nice to see ya. How're things, man?"

"Never been better. You?"

"Same." Alfred looked at the digital clock attached to the side of a hallway wall and looked towards the classroom doors, then back at the Prussian. The latter just raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "Mhmm, I'm kinda hungry now. See ya later, Gil." The American suddenly rushed away, not into the cafeteria doors, but into a different hallway, speeding like crazy and almost bumping into the majority of the students along the way.

Gilbert scratched his head, wondering what on earth was going on, but decided to let it be and walked into the cafeteria himself, looking around for a table to sit at. Considering he couldn't sit with Matthew anymore, and considering Roderich wasn't in the same lunch time as he was in, he had to find a new group of friends, and quick. Of course, wasn't he the school-renowned pariah, anyway? What did it matter to him?

_I want people to know just how awesome I really am_, Gilbert thought to himself. _But standing around there like the loser you aren't isn't gonna help, stupid._

With a sigh, he chose the empty table at the far end of the cafeteria and started munching on his lunch in silence, staring at his food rather than making eye contact with anyone else. The rest of his lunch was sickeningly quiet, and sickeningly lonely, and for a split second he wanted to look behind him to see what on earth Matthew was doing right now, who he was sitting with, if the blonde missed him as much as the albino missed Matthew. But he restrained himself from doing that and returned to concentrating on his lunch. Yum, how he loved wurst…

Just when he was about to insert the giant, juicy wurst into his mouth, he heard a few chuckles behind him. Choosing to ignore it—it was probably just a bunch of bullies, or probably that jerky Englishmen Arthur Kirkland—he returned yet again to his lunch, only to stop when he felt the table move slightly on either side of him, as if there were people sitting next to him. And there were.

To his left was a cheeky and tanned brunette with the brightest and happiest green eyes, a large contrast with Arthur's gloomy emerald ones. To his right was a blonde with the bluest eyes, and for a moment he looked just like Matthew, except with confidence and facial hair.

"Heya, _mi amigo_," the tanned one said ebulliently, his grin looking cute and innocent yet made Gilbert shudder slightly.

The other one, the blonde, the one who looked like Matthew, snickered softly and said in an equally happy but scary voice, "I think you're just the person we need, _mon ami_."

➊ ➃ ➌

Throughout the entire day, all Alfred could think of was lunch. Not just because he was hungry—because, believe him, he was starving, as if he hadn't eaten in years—but because he couldn't wait to talk to Arthur. Sure, they had first period together, but the history teacher had assigned seats earlier on during the week, and now the two blonde boys were as far apart from each other as possible. So, lunch was practically the only time they could actually sit and talk to each other, though Alfred didn't think Arthur would be in the cafeteria. He wasn't sure how, but he had a strange feeling that Arthur would be under the teacher's desk again, listening to that Counting Crows song they both love, and possibly bearing a bag of scrumptious-looking chocolate chip cookies. Alfred subconsciously licked his lips as he made his way towards the same room he was in yesterday for lunch, only to be stopped by the noise of several footsteps behind him, echoing throughout the vacancies of the hallway.

He turned around, asking out loud who was there, but there was not a soul there nor was there a reply. Suddenly apprehensive, the American walked slightly faster, faster, faster, until he was up to a sprint, running to the classroom like a madman. Luckily, he only tripped once during his marathon mile. Unluckily, he tripped into the classroom, making the Englishman under the teacher's desk jump, or so it sounded. Alfred heard a hollow knock on the wood of the teacher's desk, so he assumed that Arthur—

"—hit my head!"

Alfred blinked, dumbfounded. "Huh?"

"You," Arthur accused with a foaming mouth, pointing at the American. "Made. Me. Hit. My. Head." The staccato of his words made Alfred retract slightly, but the American tried to hide his fear by chuckling softly. It was hard to keep the atmosphere lighthearted when the Briton, whose head was glowing with pain, was glaring daggers and bullets at Alfred. Again. Though, for some reason, Alfred felt like it wasn't as hostile as before. In fact, Alfred felt that the "daggers" and "bullets" missed him on purpose and there were secret messages being sent instead.

"Sorry, dude." Alfred eyed the bag of cookies in the Briton's hands and breathed in the faint scent of homemade confectionaries. Arthur noticed the sparkle in the American's eyes when said American looked at the bag of cookies, and the Englishman flushed slightly and looked aside, shoving the bag of cookies into Alfred's empty arms.

"I didn't make these for you or anything," Arthur insisted as Alfred opened the bag. "I suppose it's just convenient you're here. I can't finish all that by myself."

"Whatever ya say, dude." After opening the bag, Alfred stuck a hand into the bag and pulled out a cookie, shoving it into his mouth thereafter and chewing amiably… until he realized the cookie tasted as disgusting as a smoothie of old feet, blue cheese, and feces of all kinds, not that he knew what something like _that_ would taste like… but ugh! Ew! Gross!

He tried to restrain the face of disgust he wanted to make and forced the chewed contents down his throat, shivering slightly at the vileness of it all. Arthur looked at him with eager eyes, as if expecting a response, so Alfred, with quivering lips, gave him a thumbs up.

Arthur's face brightened at the notion. "You… like it?"

"Yeah!" His stomach was screaming bloody murder. "This is the best thing I've ever eaten in my entire life!" His stomach wanted to explode. "Please make more for me!" _Ugh!_

Alfred didn't know why he was lying about this. Those cookies were simply atrocious, despite smelling temptingly delicious. Maybe it was just an Englander—err, he meant, _Englishmen_—thing. But when he saw Arthur's face beam up with that same smile as yesterday, Alfred definitely figured that lying was worth it… and he supposed that dying by eating these hazardous cookies was worth it, too, if it meant seeing Arthur smile again.

Smirking, Arthur folded his arms over his chest. "I only bake on special occasions, but I guess I can make an exception for you. I'll make you scones next time. How does that sound?"

"_Great_," Alfred said sarcastically, but Arthur, for once, seemed to be oblivious as he was fawning over himself. Alfred couldn't help but smile at how gullible and egotistical Arthur was. It was sort of, kind of, almost, a tiny bit… cute.

Woah woah woah, wait a minute! Alfred pursed his lips and retied the bag of cookies, sitting atop one of the desks.

Arthur eyed him closely, suspiciously, before speaking his mind. "Well… what, you git?"

"What what?" Alfred continued jokingly, "in the butt?"

Ignoring the immature extension—though mentally chuckling at the reference to the old, infamous Youtube video—Arthur asked, "Why were you staring at me?"

"Why should I tell you anything when you don't tell _me_ anything?" Alfred jabbed back smartly, which took Arthur aback.

"Touché," Arthur mumbled, defeated. "If you really want to know why I was being nice to you yesterday… it's because I… may not hate you as much as I think I did."

"Why did you hate me in the first place, anyway? Is it because of my great looks, making you all jealous and crap?" Alfred wiggled his eyebrows, making Arthur roll his eyes and smile simultaneously.

"No. No one can be quite as dashing as I am," Arthur said. "But anyway, I can't tell you. I haven't told anyone about it, not even my step-brother."

"Aww, c'mon! You can tell me! We're friends, right, dude? You can trust me!"

"Not yet…"

Alfred moaned childishly. "C'mon!"

Arthur wasn't expecting himself to say the truth, but somehow, without even thinking about it, the truth just escape his lips. "I hate Americans, okay?"

"Oh." Alfred looked down. That was nothing like he expected. He was expecting some dark, secret organization that was full of ninjas, and Arthur was one of them, or some other cool secretive idea, but apparently Arthur hated Americans. And apparently, Alfred was American. Whoop-de-fucking-doo.

"But," Arthur quickly interjected, inching towards Alfred with small, tentative steps. "You're an exception, I suppose, you git…"

Arthur's face crept ever so closer to Alfred's own, making both of them blush like crazy. It felt like a dream, everything feeling so different and weird, nothing making any sense whatsoever. Arthur's lips were puckered, ready to steal Alfred's lip virginity in a single swoop, and Alfred was panicking, asking himself whether or not he wanted his first kiss with a guy, lest Arthur Kirkland, the jerk that ruined his new life in England from the very first day of school!

He felt a magnetic attraction, though—a pull that he couldn't resist. He supposed he did want to kiss Arthur… So, with all the strength he could muster, he puckered his own lips and closed his eyes tightly, waiting for the moment to happen, waiting for the fireworks to erupt, waiting to be a… man.

But that didn't happen. No fireworks, no manliness, no nothing.

Alfred opened his eyes and saw Arthur picking out a handkerchief from his right pocket, smudging it over the side of Alfred's lips. "You have crumbs all over yourself. Stop being such a messy eater." Arthur sighed in an almost motherly way. "Really. You're such a child."

The American's head exploded right there and then. Did Arthur notice Alfred's lips and how they were puckered? If he did, the Briton didn't mention it nor did he hint at it at all. The only thing the Briton did was give Alfred his handkerchief, which was by now covered with numerous chocolate stains and crumbs. "Clean yourself up," Arthur ordered. Alfred twitched at the innuendo but obeyed, draping and rubbing the handkerchief across his face. The handkerchief itself actually smelt really nice. He wondered if that was what Arthur smelt like. Like… roses.

"Hey, it's time to go to class," Arthur stated as he snatched the handkerchief from Alfred's hands. "I'll see you tomorrow… Alfred."

Alfred smiled like the little girl (err, boy) he was. "Same for you, Artie."

"H-hey, don't call me that!" Arthur deadpanned, looking furiously disheveled by the comment. Alfred watched with amusement as the Briton, teeth grinding against each other, stumbled towards the door.

Smirking, Alfred mocked, "Okay, _Artie-kins_."

Arthur growled angrily, took a chance to glare back at Alfred, then walked out of the room without another word. When he heard the click, Alfred buried his face into the desk he was sitting on. _Oh my gosh, I'm hopeless_.

➊ ➃ ➌

When Alfred got home, he noticed that he had several unopened text messages. Was he that popular already? Well, like he's said, he was pretty good-looking, dashing to those Englishmen, he thought bemusedly. Of course he'd be popular.

The first text was from the pretty girl from a few days ago. Elizabeta, that was her name. Actually, most of the messages were from her. In fact, eight out of the ten text messages were from her. All of which were chain mails.

"Goddamit, I hate chain texts," Alfred whispered to himself angrily, flipping through every single one through spiteful curiousity. Apparently, he died a total number of seven times, and in one of them, he would be able to find his true love if he sent the same text to ten other people and then pressed the numbers one, four, then three.

_One-four-three, my ass._

He sighed and deleted all of the texts in disappointment, looking at the last text. Alfred was expecting that it would be from Arthur, but instead, it was from another unknown number. Again. It read:

'**ello. Remember me? It's 937. ;)**

A surprised breath caught in Alfred's throat as he reread the text message, again and again and again, before hitting the reply button.

**I know ur not artie**

Even when it was apparently Arthur's phone number, Alfred believed Arthur when he said he wasn't "937". This "937" persona must have been able to change his phone number to fake his (or her, whatever _it_ may be) identity. Besides, if it was Arthur, what would his motive be?

He wouldn't have a motive, that's what.

**I'm not? Then who am I?**

Alfred tapped the reply button angrily, typing a laconic reply. He hated people who played dumb.

**Idk?**

_See, two can play at this "dumb" game_, Alfred thought to himself, awaiting anxiously for the reply. Surprisingly, it was longer than "937's" usual text messages, though not by much.

**Here, let me give you a hint: I'm better than "Artie".**

Alfred raised an eyebrow at that. What did this "937" mean that he… or she… or _it_ was better than Arthur? Everything the enigmatic person said was so vague and mysterious, and it was getting on Alfred's nerves.

**Wut do u mean by that…?**

Alfred plopped onto his bed and stared at his phone, waiting for that text message. Ten minutes had passed, and still, there was nothing. He decided to wait a few more minutes, resending his last message again in case it didn't sent the first time. But, after thirty more minutes of tireless waiting and no text message, Alfred gave up on waiting and stared at the ceiling, humming to the tune of his favorite song before falling asleep.

At midnight, his phone buzzed, blinking crazily with the name, "_Mattie Williams :D"_.

* * *

**Sorry for the short chapter, but at least I've finally updated. My USUK/UKUS and Hetalia flare has been spontaneously ignited again, and I just can't get enough of them! Yay for Hetalia, the nostalgic fandom magnet! :D**

**Hopefully this clears up a bit of confusion in Arthur's behavior, though this isn't the complete explanation yet. There's still a little bit more to it, but I'll save that for later. Thanks for the critics and suggestions, everyone!**

**By the way, I love the Hetalia dub. **_**"Whoa, ice cream? Dude, I'm so coming there to hug you! Iiiiiiceeee creeaaammmm!"**_** I. MUST. GET. DVDs.**


	7. YSIC

**Ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡ ➆**  
ⓎⓈⒾⒸ

Every morning, Arthur would be greeted by the strong smell of newly-brewed tea downstairs along with the gentle melody of his favorite song playing on his phone, which played at exactly five in the morning every day on his phone. It was his only moments of peace, these precious seconds after waking up from whatever he dreamt of (he could never remember). He truly, truly loved these moments and tried to savor them until his older step-brother or his parents woke up and ruined those moments. He woke up bright and early just for this peace. Unfortunately, today was an exception, for when the Briton woke up that morning, he was greeted not with the scent of Earl Grey nor _"Anywhere you go, anyone you meet… Remember that your eyes can be your enemy…" _Rather, he was greeted by said older step-brother, hair tousled and eyes groggy, who was staring at the Briton with slight trepidation, green cell phone clutched in his hand.

"Arthur!" the Canadian exclaimed, holding his cell phone in front of Arthur's face. The bushy-browed boy, petulant from awaking without his moments of silence, swatted the cell phone away, but the Canadian was stubborn and continued to hold it in front of his younger step-brother's scowling face. "Look, I know it's really early in the morning, but I just thought you should read this… It's… well, just read it. You'll understand… Maybe…" Matthew smiled sheepishly, forcing the cell phone into Arthur's hands.

Just when Arthur was about to pull the bird on Matthew, his eyes caught a short glimpse of the text message on the phone's screen, deterring his thoughts from flipping the Canadian off. It was basically a conversation between his younger step-brother and an anonymous texter. The texter hadn't mentioned his (or her, though for the sake of things, Arthur thought of the texter as a he; what girl in their right mind would text his step-brother, anyway?) name until the very last text message. However, the only thing he said was, "_My name? Call me 937. ;)"_

Arthur probably wouldn't have paid much mind to that fact, especially considering the number seemed like something that was spontaneously made up and very insignificant, but then he remembered his encounter with Alfred a few days ago, and everything just clicked.

_937_. That was what the American accused him of being, whatever "937" meant. Arthur wasn't much for numbers. He hated numbers, to be honest. But he did know that the number was a significant year in English history, and he also realized that the entirety of the freshman class in George Stephenson High School learned about it in World History class, so practically everyone knew what the number meant. (Well, except for Alfred probably. Arthur smirked at that thought.) Why on earth would the mysterious texter use that as his alias, though? It didn't make much sense. Or at least, Arthur thought it didn't make sense.

"I got the text last night," Matthew explained, shivering slightly. "I thought that maybe it was Gilbert playing a prank on me, but then our conversation began to turn and I realized that it wasn't like Gilbert at all, even if he has changed." Matthew caught himself before continuing, "But, let's forget about Gilbert for a minute… I think I was texting him—937, that is—for twenty minutes until it was midnight. That was when I got scared and decided to text Alfred"—Arthur's eyes suddenly grew in size at the sole mention of the name—"but it was really stupid of me because of course he would be asleep! Who in their right mind is awake at twelve in the morning with school right there, waiting for you?"

"Apparently you were," Arthur mumbled in a laconic tone. "Basically, you were dumb enough to talk to a stranger? Didn't elementary school teach you anything about stranger danger?"

Matthew sighed. "Okay, I get it, I made a dumb decision. No need to reprimand me about it, especially at such an early time."

"And whose fault is it that we are both up _this_ early, and obviously cranky beyond belief?" Arthur glared daggers into Matthew's soul, but the Canadian just tried to ignore them and awkwardly pressed random buttons on his phone. "Listen, if you let me have my peace for a few minutes, I'll help you with this 937 business."

Instantaneously, Matthew's bright blue eyes opened up with shocked happiness. "Really?"

"Yes." Arthur blushed, turning his head away. "But don't get me wrong, my reasons for helping you out are selfish. It is not for you—_at all_."

"Yeah, yeah." Matthew rolled his eyes, smiling affectionately and teasingly. "I know you're probably doing this for Alfred. You don't have to deny it anymore."

"I…" Arthur shut his mouth before he could say anything that would reinforce that. There was no use in denying the fact if it was more than likely going to escalate into an all-out debate—not that Arthur even liked Alfred in the first place! Arthur just didn't hate him as much as he used to, as all.

With that, the Briton shooed his younger brother out of his room and locked the door behind him as he carefully sat back down on his bed. He then looked at around his mundane room, smacking his lips together. He really wanted some tea right now.

➊ ➃ ➌

Alfred scarfed down a jelly-filled donut (bought fresh and hot from the local bakery, of course) whilst walking down the paved cement, a fretful black-haired Kiku loyally at his side.

"We don't hang out enough, dude," Alfred complained, gulping down yet another donut.

The petite boy nodded hurriedly. "Yes, I agree. You… spend a lot of time with Arthur now, however."

Just at the mention of that name, Alfred immediately spit out the chewed-up donut pieces in the air. Kiku cringes, taken aback by the action, and watches as the disgusting little pieces fall on the pavement. Alfred turns red from the embarrassing situation and tucks the donut he was about to eat into his back for later, shoving it into his backpack.

"I, uh… yeah. Sorry 'bout that, Kiku," Alfred said with a soft, nervous laugh. "I was just… err… Arthur. _Arthur_."

"Yes… Arth-_ur_," the Japanese boy reiterated slowly, his face turning a bright shade of pink too. "I am sorry for asking so suddenly, but I have been talking to Matthew and, err, Elizabeta"—Alfred gushed at the name, wondering what the beautiful, busty girl was doing right now—"and we think that… you spend a lot of time with Arthur. A _lot_. And Matthew thinks it is 'weird' considering you had ill feelings for him for the first few days of your arrival."

"Well, we're kinda cool now. Like sort-kinda bros, y'know what I'm saying?" Japan nodded his head no, his usually-dull eyes shining with a bit of newfound curiosity; so, naturally, Alfred grinned and blushed, continuing with, "It's like we're friends, except we tease each other a lot. Just like bros."

"Is this called… 'bromance'? Elizabeta calls it that, and… more," Kiku asked, making Alfred want to puke up his donut breakfast. Gee, this conversation was getting awkward (for Alfred, anyway) and _quick_. He needed to stall; he needed an excuse; he needed to _not_ open his mouth and say something he would inevitably regret.

Fortunately, Alfred found that he just stepped into the school boundaries, making him sigh in relief at the lucky coincidence. He sure did have a bout of serendipity whenever he most needed it. "Hey, I can't believe we're here!" Alfred said giddily. "Well, looks like I gotta go now, Kiku." Alfred scanned the perimeter in search of someone to cling on to as a way to avoid the awkward conversation with the Japanese man, and he saw Arthur's tall, lanky body just under the red- and orange-colored tree, his earbuds glued to his ears. Grinning like a loser, Alfred said again, "see ya at lunch, Kiku!" Then, he ran off into the Briton's direction, trying to be as quiet as he could so the Englishman wouldn't notice he was there. It seemed like the bushy-browed boy was completely oblivious by the American's presence, and giggling maliciously in the palms of his hands, Alfred smirked and crashed into the taller blonde, giving him a big, huge hug.

"Surprise!" Alfred said in his usual bubbly tone, craning his head a little to look at the surprised teen. Arthur was staring down at the American now, one of his earbuds falling out of place. Naturally, Alfred took this as a chance to take the earbud and put it in his own ear, curious as to what Arthur was currently listening to. A few seconds into the song and its catchy, cutesy rhythm, Alfred grinned, not expecting someone as stuffy as _Arthur_ to be listening to a song like this.

"American Boy?" Alfred stared at the Briton with a goofy grin, and Arthur blushed, looking at his iPod and trying to find a new song that had nothing to do with romance whatsoever. "Dude… I freakin' love that song! As girly as it is. It's catchy."

"I suppose," Arthur said, scrolling through his playlist. Love song. Love song. Angsty love song. Did he have _anything_ that wasn't related to love? "I heard Matthew listening to it," Arthur half-lied.

Of course, the American didn't catch the little half-lie and instead removed his arms from around the Briton's lanky waist, readjusting his jacket with fidgety fingers. "Well, so, uh… how was your morning?"

"One of the worst mornings I've ever experienced," Arthur responded as Alfred, who still had one of Arthur's earbud in his ear, dragged the Briton across the entirety of the front of the school, passing by people who just stared at them. Alfred was used to being noticed, and so he relished in the fact that people were looking at him—in awe, nonetheless! He knew parting his hair the opposite way from where he usually parted it would work!

"Why's that, dude?" Alfred asked as the two entered the building. "You don't look that cranky right now, though."

"Well, _git_, my step-brother just so-happened to wake me up talking gibberish about a serial texter on the loose. But I did have my tea, so I am alright now."

Alfred's ears perked up. "Serial texter?"

"Yes," Arthur confirmed offhandedly, yanking the earbud out of Alfred's ear. Said American yelped in slight pain, rubbing his ear and pulling the finger on Arthur. Fortunately for the both of them, there were no teachers around in the hallways, so Arthur took advantage of the fact and decided to return the favor by flipping the bird, too.

Alfred giggled. Arthur, blushing at how cute the sound of laughter out of Alfred's mouth was, coiled his earbuds around his iPod and pocketed it in his jacket pockets, quickly striding along to catch up to the American. It only took him five steps to accomplish, given that he had longer legs. "Nine-three-seven."

"Nine… three… seven…" Alfred echoed, the thoughts of last night's text coming back into his head. The mysterious texter mentioned that he was "better than Artie," meaning that whoever the texter was must've known Arthur, right? He also had to have a big of an ego or something… "Matthew… is being targeted too?"

"Apparently so."

Alfred sighed. "I'm glad I'm not alone. But gee, I still have no freakin' clue who this guy… girl… _thing_ is! Honestly, I thought it was you at first, but I guess not…" Alfred laughed sheepishly and scratched the back of his head whilst Arthur looked up at the ceiling, his eyes looking at the lights in a musing manner.

"I promised my step-brother I would help him find out who he is," Arthur mentioned quietly, stuffing his hands inside his pockets. "I can help you out, too, considering you are in the same exact situation."

"Really?" Alfred asked, his eyes sparkling happily. Arthur rolled his eyes, feeling a bit of déjà vu; not only did his step-brother and Alfred look almost identical, they even said almost the same things sometimes. It made Arthur wonder a bit…

But no. It couldn't be…

Shrugging off the stupid thought out of his system, Arthur glanced down at the American boy, who was gushing like no tomorrow. He found himself smiling a bit. The blonde, blue-eyed boy was so easily amused. It was rather… heartwarming, to say the least. Maybe even a bit endearing.

"We can be detectives, like Sherlock Holmes," Alfred grinned. "I'll be Sherlock, you be that fat guy. I dunno his name. Wendell or Wally or something? Something with a 'W'…"

"Watson, you idiot," Arthur corrected. Then, he asked curiously, his green eyes narrowing dangerously, "why am _I_ Watson?"

"Because I'm the leader!" Alfred said happily. "And you're the sidekick. Duh."

"Au contraire," Arthur said with an evil smile, "you should be Watson because you are second only to me. I am the one who is British. I am the one who is taller. And"—Arthur prowled closer and closer towards the American, who just kept stepping back until his back met the evil, evil wall—"_I_ wear the pants."

"What the fuck is that supposed to… mean…?" Alfred shivered at the Englishman's salacious touch, feeling Arthur's finger slyly sliver down the American's fragile neck. It sent a jolt of electricity rushing throughout his veins like some racecar championship. So far, the electrical jolt was beating the rush of his own blood.

"It means that I'll be leading this case, and you'll be my lackey. You have to do _everything _I say." Arthur planted his hands on his hips. "Capisce?"

"Err, capisce, whatever…" Alfred had no clue what he was getting himself into… but he knew that something terribly, terribly, horribly, sickeningly, destructively bad was going to happen during this little "adventure" of theirs…

➊ ➃ ➌

"What do you guys need from me, anyway?" Gilbert asked, stuffing a giant croissant into his mouth. He chewed on it amiably, not having had anything as well-made before (it was difficult seeing as his younger brother did most of the cooking, and, well, all his brother made were half-cooked wursts) so he tried to savor the saccharine flavor at that moment. The two guys that sat next to him during lunch yesterday were now walking on either side of them, both eating a croissant themselves. "I mean, not that I mind. It's always good to have a few more friends to add to my ever-growing popularity."

The tanned brunette looked at the albino with bright green eyes, spontaneously getting out a ripe tomato from his backpack and eating it alongside the croissant. Gilbert would've heaved at the amalgam of tomato and croissant—really, who _did_ that?—but he tried to keep it to himself and thought of rainbows and bunnies instead. "_Well_," the brunette said, his Spanish accent rolling off his tongue. "I actually don't know either. That Frenchie over there dragged me along with him just two days ago." The tanned boy chuckled softly, munching on the tomato-croissant amalgam in content. "By the way, my name's Antonio. Call me Toni, though. It's cuter."

"Alright, Toni," Gilbert said after swallowing the remnants of the croissant crumbs he had left. "I'm Gilbert. Sometimes I go by Gil, sometimes Gilbo. It depends. I don't like the latter much, though. Stupid Arthur." The silver-haired boy scoffed angrily, and the blue-eyed blonde who had yet to touch his own croissant was smiling knowingly.

"I'm Francis, no nickname, unfortunately," the blonde offered in a sensual voice that practically made all worries disappear. "And that's exactly why I called you both here. That's exactly why I need you both here. Because, we have many things in common—many _goals_ in common that we have never realized before."

"Like what?" Antonio asked curiously, his face now stained in juicy red. Gilbert offered the tanned boy a napkin, telling him that he had "a little something something" on his face. The Spaniard just accepted and started rubbing his face with the napkin like crazy.

Francis raised an eyebrow, amused at the weird interaction between the two. "Well, first off, we are all amazing in our own ways, are we not?" Gilbert and Antonio nodded simultaneously. Francis continued, "And we are all, as far as I know, have our unrequited loves… Like Antonio and your little Romano—"

"Ahh, _Romano_," Antonio said dreamily, his green eyes sparkling with glee.

Francis smiled. "And Gilbert and your shy Canadian."

Gilbert crossed his arms over his chest in a defiant manner, looking to the side in a huff. Red—the same color as the tomato the Spaniard devoured only a few minutes ago—invaded his cheeks at that moment. "I… I have Roderich now."

"But you must admit that your choosing Roderich to be your boyfriend is all an act, is it not?" Francis pressed, and Gilbert looked down uneasily. "You like mon ami Matthew, do you not? Even if you are 'dating' someone else, your heart will always belong to him. To Mathew. Even if he was the cause of breaking it."

"I… guess…" Gilbert flushed. "In a small way! He doesn't have me wrapped around his little finger, y'know… I just think he's kinda cute. Kid only dented me heart, by the way. He did _not_ break it," he said through gritted teeth, trying to defend himself. "I am _not_ a softie."

"Whatever you say, Gilly," Antonio said in a sing-song manner, wrapping an arm around the albino's shoulders. "But you can't hide the true passion in your voice!"

"Nor the love," Francis said quietly.

Gilbert looked at the two of them, overwhelmed and confused. He didn't know how to respond to the two. He wasn't in denial, was he? He was far from Egypt, that much he knew (haha, he loved puns!). But _denial_? That didn't mix with Gilbert. No, not at all. Gilbert was never in denial. He was too awesome for that.

But, the two kids next to him were pretty cool in their own weird ways, so Gilbert decided that he would stick with them both for now. But, one question did bother him for a while now, after the three kids started walking around without even a smidge of noise… "Hey, Francis, who's _your_ unrequited love?"

Looking taken aback by the question, the blonde eyed Gilbert and Antonio too, the two smiling and eyes prodding for the truth. Francis didn't say anything and only offered his silence, but afterwards he let out a soft sigh and smiled suavely. "Well, I was hoping you would not ask _moi_, but if I must, I will tell you. I'm in the same boat as you, Gil; though Samira is the most beautiful in the school in the eyes of many, the one soul who is most beautiful and who has my heart is…" The Frenchman gestured for the two boys to move closer to France, and they all stopped just to do that. Antonio moved in front of Gilbert, and the latter leaned towards France. The Spaniard and the self-proclaimed Prussian then both moved their ears in close to France's mouth, who whispered the name of the enigmatic person into their eyes in the most dramatic, slowest recital ever made.

Afterwards, the two boys who were listening retracted and took their original spots again. The white-haired boy's red eyes were wide with shock, his head swirling as he tried to process the grave information that was just passed on to him. Meanwhile, the tanned boy was smiling, gushing at how adorable the two would be if Francis and his true love were to get together.

The blonde nodded and smiled, moxie burning in his eyes. "There is also another thing we three share in common," the blonde said, spontaneously changing the lighthearted subject into a darker one thanks to his new tone of voice. Currently, it sounded rich and velvety, but at the same time there was a sense of hidden spite and anger.

"What… is it?" Antonio asked, his cheery voice an awkward contrast to Francis's new dark tone. "Is it how hot we all look"—Gilbert actually grinned at that; finally, someone who noticed his true good looks!—"or is it because the three of us are in the same history class"—Gilbert blinked, never realizing that fact before—"or is it because we all think that Feli is the cutest thing ever?"

"Yeah, Feliciano," Gilbert sighed dreamily.

France said in an equally dreamy tone, "Ahh, mon ami Feli is very adorable, oui oui?" Suddenly, he snapped out of his surreal reverie and grinned a dangerous grin, looking at the two guys with dark eyes. "Back with the topic. Who do you hate the most?"

"No one!" Antonio said giddily. "Well… actually…"

"I hate a lot of people," Gilbert said after a snort. "But the person I hate the most is…"

The three boys eyed each other knowingly, all of a sudden feeling a weird mental attachment with each other, like they were twins that looked nothing alike and were separated from birth, or like they were a group of psychics who had the ability to do something cool like that. Either way—magical psychic force or not—the trio's eyes all darkened in the most devious of ways as they whispered in perfect disharmony, "_Arthur Kirkland_."

➊ BRUDER ➃ **SPECIAL** ➌

_Broken heart syndrome is a temporary heart condition brought on by stressful situations, such as death of a loved one. People with broken heart syndrome may have sudden chest pain or think they're having a heart attack. These broken heart syndrome symptoms may be brought on by the heart's reaction to a surge of stress hormones. In broken heart syndrome, a part of your heart temporarily enlarges and doesn't pump well, while the remainder of the heart functions normally or with even more forceful contractions._

Gilbert looked at the screen, his red eyes burning from staring too long, and he scoffed at the idea that such a thing could exist. He wasn't as naïve as people thought he was. He preferred to think rationally. He preferred to have a bit of common sense. And, come on, how could something effect the heart so much that it would cause true, tangible pain? He could understand a feeling of depression and a feeling of not wanting to exist anymore, but he couldn't understand ever being brokenhearted. Not even if your heart was "broken" by the one you really, really did like—a whole lot.

He was talking about Matthew. Matthew and his nice smile. Matthew and his nice hair. Matthew and his nice _everything_. They were the best of friends, but in a single second of contradicting feelings, everything just exploded before them and left not a trace of their past friendship behind. Gilbert was sad, yes, but he wasn't… heartbroken. He only felt a little bit of a dent. A little bit of a bruise, like the effects of going into a battle with someone who was equal to your strength, but you miscalculated and got hit pretty bad. That's what happened to Gilbert's heart. It would heal soon enough, or at least that's what Gilbert thought. It just _had_ to.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he did feel that horrible pang of pain in his chest. It felt so unreal, yet it was there, beating up his heart with unbelievable pain.

Gilbert clutched at his chest in response and tried to think happy thoughts. Tried to think of anything that would keep his mind off of things. Wurst, the awesomeness that was himself, his new boyfriend Austria, his… _Augh_! No, no! Nothing was working! He couldn't distract himself from thoughts of that blonde, blue-eyed cutie. He couldn't _stop_ the memories of their childhood friendship, couldn't forget the fact that they were once so close and inseparable. Couldn't forget the fact that he wasn't friends with Matthew anymore…

Feeling a bit of wetness accumulating in the corners of his eyes, he quickly closed the article and opened up his infamous blog. He then started typing everything down with a furious pace, all the wiled-up emotions he was currently feeling making each throb of pain in his chest grow more and more with every click of the keyboard.

_Title: Venting is good for the soul, I guess_

_I've never really had to deal with heartbreak in my life. I've never had to deal with these sort of feelings before. It's like they're foreign to me. It's like all these emotions are attacking me all at once, and it's causing my entire mindset to be in overload. I'm just so confused. One day you're all goody-goody with your best friend, the next day you don't so much as bat an eyelash at each other. Awkward. That's what it is._

_Maybe I shouldn't have told Matthew my feelings that early, especially if I still wasn't too sure about his ambiguous sexuality. I mean, I never really expected Matthew to be gay to be honest, but I never really thought of him as a straight person. Maybe he was something in the middle. Maybe he was oblivious. I don't know. Matthew's a weird case. Either way, I confessed, and now I'm in a sea of shit. The shit is drowning me._

_I stumbled upon this website that rambled on and on about something called "broken heart syndrome". I didn't think it was real at first. Really, what kind of a lame name is that? It's just not at all awesome. Whoever made that up really is uncreative. I would expect something scientific, like "fractus pectore" or something fancy shmancy like that. I don't even know what I just said… Err, typed. Damn, I hate that. Are the words I typed really what I said? Because I hate correcting myself whenever I say "said" but I really meant "typed" but it should be assumed what I really meant. It's just confusing and annoying._

_Like… like… Matth—_

"'The shit is drowning me'?" The albino looked around and saw his younger brother, blonde hair matted so his fringe was covering his forehead, and his face was still wet. It didn't take long for Gilbert to realize that his brother was finally out of the shower. It seemed like an eternity ago that Ludwig was in there. Geez.

"Yeah," Gilbert said, minimizing his blog. He would probably save that in a document later. It was too embarrassing to post online. "The shit I'm in is like a whirlpool and I can't escape. It smells like crap, too."

"No shit, Sherlock," Ludwig mumbled softly.

"Okay, okay, enough with the shit references. It's making me wanna hurl," Gilbert said, sticking out his tongue. "I'm going into the shower now. You better not have used all the hot water again."

"I finished five minutes earlier than my usual time," Ludwig said, shuffling through his drawer in order to find a pair of boxers. Gilbert kicked his chick slippers off his dangling feet (they were his favorite, what, with being all yellow and fuzzy and cute) and the towel that was around Ludwig's waist. Flushing, the taller boy quickly put on a random pair of boxers (ironically, it was the pair that… err… someone _special_ gave him on Christmas…) and glared at his older brother to give it back. Gilbert, again, stuck out his tongue.

"I'm too lazy to get my own towel," the albino said in his defense, already stripping out of his shirt. "Geez, I feel like shit."

Ludwig asked halfheartedly, "I thought you said no more mention of that word?"

Gilbert shrugged. Ludwig plopped down on the bed and looked at his phone, noticing that there were five different text messages. Four from Feliciano, the other one from Kiku. Typical. "By the way, what _is_ with that anyway?"

"With what?" Gilbert asked, putting the towel around his waist.

Ludwig sighed nonchalantly, opening up the first text message from Feliciano (he would reply to Kiku's later, whatever it said) and reading it quickly, flushing at his boyfriend's mushy-gushy words. "I mean… the drowning thing. Is something… wrong?"

"Not really. Like I said, just some shit. I can clean it off… later…" Gilbert mumbled, looking at Ludwig's ruddy face with melancholy eyes. "You texting your boyfriend?"

Astonished, Ludwig flipped his phone shut and felt his cheeks brightening up even more from the sudden question. "Err, maybe…"

"You're lucky. I used to text Matthew all the time, you know…" Out of the blue, Gilbert felt another strong pang of pain in his chest, making him choke out at the sharp feeling. Ludwig rushed to his older brother's side immediately, rubbing the albino's back affectionately.

"Bruder… are you… alright?" Ludwig asked worriedly, nudging the older in the ribs as softly as he could. By that time, Gilbert had recovered somewhat from the sporadic choking, but his cheeks were now overflowing with tears. Ludwig's eyes widened at that. He had never seen Gilbert cry before. Not since the time when they first met each other. He knew Gilbert only cried at the most extreme and traumatic experiences, because the poor kid went through a lot in his childhood anyway. Something _must_ have hurt the albino for him to be crying so openly…

Unfortunately, the white-haired boy didn't respond. Rather, he just kept on bawling and bawling like no tomorrow. Ludwig wasn't too sure on how to comfort his older brother… he wasn't sure how to comfort anyone, in fact. But when images of Feliciano appeared in his mind—when images of Feliciano and how he had comforted Ludwig in the German's rare times of need—Ludwig decided to keep silent and hug his crying, hiccupping brother.

The notion only made Gilbert cry more, but in a good way. The white-haired boy felt like he was all alone sometimes. Like there was no one around to care for him. Like he would be abandoned all over again. But his younger brother… Ludwig… even if the taller boy was considered to be the "younger" one, Gilbert felt that Ludwig was much more mature than the albino's competent self. It bothered Gilbert how his younger brother was actually the "older" in terms of maturity and responsibility. It bothered Gilbert that he couldn't _care_ for his younger brother. It just made him feel like a failure of an older brother.

But during moments like these, when he felt his wet face pressed against the blonde's warm, chiseled, just-out-of-the-shower chest, Gilbert didn't mind. Actually, he rather liked these moments and wanted them to last forever and ever and ever. And he wanted to tell Ludwig that, but he couldn't stop crying, and Ludwig's hug _was_ rather suffocating…

"Gilbert," Ludwig murmured softly as he rubbed said albino's back. "I know you've been through a lot. So, whatever or whoever hurt you, tell them they better… y'know, watch out. Because I'll give them a world of pain if I ever see them. An eye for an eye, a heart for a heart, or however that phrase goes… right?"

Gilbert muffled in response, hugging his older brother tighter. _A heart for a heart_… He needed something to replace his broken one…

* * *

**The Germancest special is for **meganerd97**. Because, yes, I do believe that Germancest is freaking awesome, too. :) The special happens after the day Gilbert and Matthew aren't "friends" anymore, so it took place a while back. Probably around the middle of the fourth or fifth chapter, if I remember correctly. I've just recently watched the drama CD's for Prussia's blog, and geez, I can't believe I've been missing out on so much!**

**I figured I should get this out today before school starts again, so I worked on writing all this in one sitting. For two hours straight. Now my eyes burn…! And I'm hungry.**

**Oh, I keep hearing "Mr. Jones" on Pandora radio. Like, all the time. At least three times a day. Do you think that's a sign?**


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